A 


A^Vv. 


THE 


NEW  KING  ARTHUR 


AN    OPERA    WITHOUT  MUSIC 


BY  THE  AUTHOR   OF    "THE   BUNTLING   BALL" 


FUNK   &   WAGNALLS 


NEW    YORK  gg  LONDON 

.EET 
All  Rights  Reserved 


1885 
10   AND    12    DEY    STREET  44    FLEET    STREET 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1885,  by 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


Registered  at  Stationers'  Hall.  London,  England. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  ALFRED,  LORD  TENNYSON. 

TAKE,  Alfred,  this  mellifluous  verse  of  mine, 
Nor  rank  too  high  the  honor  I  bestow, 
Howe'er  it  thrill  thy  soul  with  grateful  pride. 
For  thou  hast  sung  of  Arthur  and  his  knights, 
And  thou  hast  told  of  deeds  that  they  have  done, 
And  thou  hast  told  of  loves  that  they  have  loved, 
And  thou  hast  told  of  sins  that  they  have  sinned, 
And  I  have  sung  in  my  way,  thou  in  thine. 
I  think  my  way  superior  to  thine, 
Yes,  Alfred,  yes,  in  loyal  faith  I  do  ; 
But  if  I  do  I  may  be  right  or  wrong  ; 
And  whether  right  or  wrong,  what  matters  it  ? 
For  shall  not  swans   be  swans,  though  geese  are 
geese  ? 


2041572 


iv  DEDICA  TION. 

And  if  our  swans  be  geese  yet  swans  are  deemed, 

The  merrier  for  ourselves  that  deem  them  swans. 

So,  take  my  verses,  Alfred,  nor  with  shame 

Too  deeply  blush,  as  when  we  gain  a  boon 

So  precious  that  we  know  'tis  undeserved. 

For  thou  hast  very  creditably  sung 

Of  Arthur,  if  we  judge  thee  all-in-all  ; 

And  I,  if  I  more  creditably  sing, 

Can  help  it  not ;  but  let  us  live  our  lives. 

For  now  o'er  tilth  and  wold,  o'er  waste  and  weald, 

Full  summer  broods,  the  linnet  warbles  peace, 

The  red  kine  stray,  and  butter  has  gone  down  ! 

NEW  YORK,  August,  1885. 


PERSONS    OF    THE    PLAY. 

ARTHUR,  King  of  Britain. 
MERLIN,  his  Magician  in  Ordinary. 
SIR  LANCELOT. 
SIR  GALAHAD. 

MODRED,  near  Kinsman  of  the  King. 
DAGONET,  the  King's  Fool. 
SIR  BEDIVERE. 
SIR  GERAINT. 

GUINEVERE,  Queen  of  Britain. 
ENID. 
VIVIEN. 

KNIGHTS,  LADIES,  SOLDIERS,  POPULACE  OF  CAMELOT, 
ETC. 


Damna  tamen  celeres  reparant  ccelestia  lunce  ; 

Nos,  ubi  decidinms 
Quo  pater  ALneas,  quo  Tullus,  dives  et  Ancus, 

Pulvis  et  umbra  sumus, 

HOR.,  LIB.  IV.,  ODE  VII. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 


ACT   I. 

SCENE  :  Courtyard  of  KING  ARTHUR'S  castle  in  Game- 
lot.  Troops  appear,  marching  under  command  of  SIR 
BEDIVERE,  SIR  GALAHAD,  SIR  GERAINT,  and  other 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  with  banners,  trophies, 
and  all  the  pomp  of  a  brilliant  pageant, 

TROOPS. 

IT  is  not  a  pleasant  matter 
To  endure  the  idle  chatter 
Sentimentalists  who  flatter 

Will  continually  breed, 
All  about  the  battle  gory, 
With  its  legendary  glory 
And  its  fame  in  song  or  story 

As  the  centuries  proceed. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

For  we  long  ago  decided 

That  the  honor  is  divided 

By  the  leaders  who  have  guided 

Not  the  men  who  urged  the  strife  ; 
That  the  captains  get  the  measure 
Of  all  military  treasure, 
And  the  soldier's  only  pleasure 

Is  escaping  with  his  life. 

We  are  sensible  of  duty 
And  its  highly  moral  beauty, 
Though  we've  all  an  eye  to  booty 

While  we  tread  the  martial  plain  ; 
Yet  the  monarch  of  our  nation 
Disapproves  of  spoliation, 
And  to  win  his  approbation 

We  must  quell  the  greed  of  gain. 
Still,  the  history  of  Britain, 
Howsoever  it  is  written, 
With  the  foes  that  we  have  smitten 

Will  in  future  time  be  rife. 


THE  NEW  KING  AR1HUR. 

And  we  think  that  our  employment 
Should  be  rid  of  more  annoyment, 
Since  the  soldier's  one  enjoyment 
Is  escaping  with  his  life. 

While  the  battle-axe  is  crashing 

And  the  cavalry  are  dashing 

And  the  mighty  swords  are  flashing 

And  the  deadly  arrow  shoots, 
We  remember  with  dejection 
(Though  it  smells  of  insurrection) 
That  we're  simply  a  collection 

Of  compulsory  recruits. 
When  the  chances  look  most  narrow, 
'Tis  a  memory  to  harrow 
That  our  grave  may  be  a  barrow 

Far  away  from  child  and  wife  ; 
And  we  feel,  without  aspersion, 
After  every  new  exertion, 
That  the  soldier's  one  diversion 

Is  escaping  with  his  life  ! 


io  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR   BEDIVERE. 

You  hear,  loved  Galahad,  this  thankless  plaint 
From  warriors  we  have  led  to  victory  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

I  hear  it,  good  Sir  Bedivere.     Forgive 

Their  strange  dissent,  since  they  have  borne  them 

true, 
Even  as  the  stanch  legs  of  our  Table  Round. 

SIR  GERAINT. 

Myself,  I  would  bring  scourges  for  their  dole, 
Not  being  as  meek  and  excellent  as  thou. 

SIR   GALAHAD. 

Nay,  let  them  cry  their  cry,  since  well  they  fought 
For  Cross  and  King  with  those  wild  heathen  hordes. 
Chide  not  the  fleet  steed  if  he  toss  his  mane, 
Nor  the  brave  lion  if  he  at  whiles  may  roar. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  n 

SIR  BEDIVERE. 

Too  lenient  art  thou,  Galahad.     Harangue 

This  carping  soldiery  ere  comes  our  King. 

Speak  ;  thou  art  rich  in  oratoric  tact, 

Nor  bluff  and  rude  of  tongue,  like  half  thy  mates 

SIR  GERAINT. 

True,  Bedivere  ;  though  best  the  surly  knaves 
Were  taught  to  rule  their  spleen  with  lusty  whips. 
When  dogs  like  these  break  leash  it  is  the  sting 
Of  discipline  that  proves  the  wiser  curb. 
Still,  Galahad,  speak  forth  ;  thy  gentle  art 
Hath  silver  fluencies  past  common  phrase. 


SIR  GALAHAD. 

It  is  not  with  foolish  arrogance 

That  I  publicly  report 
I'm  the  paragon  of  paragons 

To  be  found  in  Arthur's  court. 


12  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

I  may  tell  with  calm  security 

What  a  stainless  life  I  lead, 
For  to  paint  my  perfect  purity 

Would  be  difficult  indeed. 

It  is  true  that  once  a  pal  I  had — 

An  irreverential  pal — 

i 
Who  replaced  my  name,  Sir  Galahad, 

By  the  name  Sir  Had-a-gal. 
But  the  wag  whose  cruel  witticism 

Would  have  soiled  this  dove's  white  wing, 
Overwhelmed  with  angry  criticism, 

Has  been  exiled  by  the  King  ! 

At  the  seventh  anniversary 

Of  my  spotless  birth  and  growth, 
I  had  fainted  in  my  nursery 

When  my  nurse  let  fall  an  oath. 
But  at  nine  years  old,  humanity 

Had  impressed  me  as  so  weak 
That  I  lectured  on  profanity 

In  the  purest  Attic  Greek. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  13 

As  a  boy  of  ten,  so  heatedly 

I  had  yearned  to  soar  the  sky 
That  I  bruised  myself  repeatedly 

In  the  vain  attempt  to  fly  ; 
And  the  saintliest  proclivities 

Were  so  ardent  in  my  soul, 
That  I  went  to  all  festivities 

With  a  pasteboard  aureole. 

Notwithstanding  such  firm  tendency 

To  preserve  unsoiled  my  heart, 
I  developed  an  ascendency 

In  the  military  art  ; 
But  as  time  with  new  vitality 

Has  endowed  this  noble  frame, 
My  astonishing  morality 

Has  continued  just  the  same. 

And  it  now  is  no  surprise  to  me, 
Being  wrought  of  such  fine  clay, 

That  the  maidens  all  make  eyes  to  me 
In  a  matrimonial  way. 


14  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

For  the  charms  that  I  disseminate 
Are  of  manly  sort,  though  mild, 

And  I'm  not  at  all  effeminate, 
Though  a  lily  undefined. 

SIR  GERAINT. 

Now,  Galahad,  by  every  martyred  saint, 
Call  you  this  vaunt  of  self  a  fit  reproach 
For  insubordination  in  our  troops  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
Past  doubt  I  call  it  so,  my  fair  Geraint. 

SIR  BEDIVERE. 

Not  with  good  reason,  Galahad,  I  vow. 
Thy  sinless  character  we  all  concede  ; 
Thou  never  yet  hast  killed  a  foe  in  fight, 
Save  that  thine  eye  let  fall  the  briny  tear. 

SIR  GERAINT. 

Especially  we  all  do  venerate 
That  briny  tear  of  thine  ;  'tis  national 
And  representative,  that  briny  tear. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  15 

We  honor  it  as  emblematical 

Of  our  most  gentlemanly  Table  Round  ; 

Nor  less  we  place  thine  other  virtues  high 

As  civilizing  standards  of  our  realm. 

But  when  we  summon  thee  to  chide  our  troops, 

What  profit  may  these  grumblers  hope  to  win 

From  hearing  that  thy  soul  is  free  of  fault  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD.    . 
Ye  do  me  grievous  wrong  !  .  .  . 

These  erring  sons  of  earth, 
Reminded  but  in  song 

Of  my  surpassing  worth, 
Will  cherish  the  reminder, 
Will  calmer  grow  and  kinder, 
Will  feel  what  bonds  belong 

To  their  inferior  birth. 

TROOPS. 

Already  this  is  true  ;  .  .  . 
For  since  we  cannot  fail 


16  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

To  recognize  in  you 

A  knightly  nonpareil, 
With  keen  humiliation 
We  grant  our  lowly  station, 
And  swear  from  further  view 
Our  discontents  to  veil. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
How  sensible  you  are 

I  scarcely  need  affirm. 
The  worm  would  be  a  star, 

Yet  still  remains  a  worm. 
For  one  the  pain  of  pining, 
While  one  is  sure  of  shining  ; 
One  brightly  beams  afar, 

While  one  must  meanly  squirm. 

TROOPS. 
In  just  this  hateful  wise 

Does  caste  her  laws  dispense, 
However  we  surmise 

The  wherefore  and  the  whence  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  l^ 

Your  simile  is  bitter — 
'Tis  even  a  shoulder-hitter  ; 
Yet  we  philosophize 

And  own  its  common-sense. 

i 

SIR  BEDIVERE,  SIR  GERAINT,  AND  OTHER  KNIGHTS. 
To  Galahad  we  pay 

Respect  for  having  filled 
With  penitent  dismay 

These  churls  of  brawny  build, 
Who  bow  in  due  submission 
To  their  depraved  position, 
And  meekly  from  to-day 

Will  let  themselves  be  killed. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

I  wonder,  mates,  that  ye  should  marvel  thus 
At  my  unfailing  power  to  thrill  with  shame 
All  creatures  on  whose  grosser  lives  I  turn 
The  quiet  splendor  of  my  sinless  gaze. 


1 8  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

When  will  ye  value  at  its  mighty  claim 

The  awful  rectitude  and  probity 

That  men  have  named  Sir  Galahad  ?     Ah  !  when  ? 

A  HERALD. 
The  King  approaches. 

SIR  GERAINT. 

Galahad,  beware  ; 

It  ill  beseems  thee  so  to  laud  thy  worth 
In  presence  of  our  blameless  liege,  the  King. 

(Enter  KING  ARTHUR,  in  glittering  armor.  He  wears 
the  golden  dragon  of  the  Pendragonship  on  his  jewelled 
helm,  and  is  followed  by  SIR  MODRED,  with  other  re- 
tainers.) 

KING   ARTHUR. 

In  spite  of  my  authority  as  England's  chief  execu- 
tive, 

In  spite  of  those  who  compass  me  with  service  or 
salaam, 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  19 

I  can't  repeat  the  list  of  my  progenitors  consecutive, 

Explaining  with  lucidity  exactly  who  I  am. 
For  while  it  would  be  folly  to  declare  me  a  nonentity, 
Considering  the  hardihood  and'  prowess  all  ap- 
plaud, 
It  still   is  understood  that  there  are  flaws  in  my 

identity, 

And  that  by  certain  skeptics  I  am  feared  to  be  a 
fraud. 

Tis  argued  I  was  this,  and  it's  asserted  I  another  was ; 
My  places  of  nativity  for  number  might  appall  ; 
'Tis  doubted  who  my  father  and  distrusted  who  my 
mother  was  ; 

It  even  is  denied  that  I  was  ever  born  at  all. 

• 
But  I,  with  eager  wishes  in  my  subjects'  brains  to 

germinate 

A  rational  solution  of  my  origin  as  man, 
Have  found  that  all  my  memories  poetically  termi- 
nate 

In  visionary  shadows  on  the  Ossianic  plan. 


20  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

My   own   secure    impression,    I    will    say   without 

apology, 
Is  that  the  times  were  favoring  and  summoned  me 

from  far, 
A   person  who   was   picturesquely  loaned   you   by 

mythology, 

As  persons  of  my  prominence  occasionally  are. 
However,  if  my  lineage  be  earthly  or  ethereal, 
If  sprung  from  human  parents  or  from  spiritual 

hosts, 

It  strikes  me  I'm  at  present  very  palpably  mate- 
rial, 

With  nothing  in  my  biceps  that  would  indicate  a 
ghost's. 

I  give  delightful  dinners,  with  the  motive  to  propi- 
tiate 
Believers  and  supporters  who  are  grouped  about 

my  throne  ; 

And  frankly  I  exhibit  there,  whenever  I  officiate, 
An  Early-English  elegance  essentially  my  own  ! 


THE   i\EW  KING  ARTHUR.  21 

In    council    I    am  clever,  and    in    battle  where  the 

banners  are 
My  trusty  knights,  my  Table  Round,  will  swear  I 

lead  them  well  ; 
But   all    agree    in    thinking    how   magnificent    my 

manners  are, 
Since  born  however  oddly  I  was  born  a  perfect  swell ! 

The  worst  of  evil  tongues  may  neither  whisper  nor 

ejaculate 
About  my  name  as  royal  spouse  a  word  that  hints 

a  sneer ; 
Connubially  looked  upon,  my  record  is  immaculate, 

As  also  is  the  record  of  my  consort,  Guinevere. 
I    give    the    Queen's    affections    all    the  necessary 

twining-room, 

Allow  her  to  adore  me  as  her  wifehood  may  elect, 
Approve  of   her   appearance    in    my  parlor  or  my 

dining-room, 

And  praise  her  taste  in  dressing,  which  is  notably 
correct. 


22  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

That  I  have  deigned  to  wed  her  Guinevere  is  duly 

sensible, 
Because,  although  she  traces  from  a  line  of  kings 

and  queens, 

There  isn't  any  question  that  her  race  was  reprehen- 
sible 

In  making  ancient  history  by  very  shabby  means. 
And  all,  without  exception,  since  the  day  when  we 

were  wed  agree 

That  I,  whose  genealogy  is  lost  in  magic  haze, 
Decidedly  surpass  her  with  my  mythologic  pedigree, 
And  merit  the  fidelity  she  dutifully  pays  ! 

HERALD. 
The  Queen,  my  liege,  approaches. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Joy  !  the  Queen  ! 

(QUEEN  GUINEVERE  enters,  attended  by  the  ladies  ENID 
and  VIVIEN,  with   other  dames   of  her  Court.    SIR 
LANCELOT  soon  afterward  follows.     MERLIN  appears 
later.} 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  23 

GUINEVERE. 

Welcome,  Lord  Arthur,  fresh  from  victory  ! 
Is  it  your  gracious  wish  we  should  embrace  ? 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Considerate  wife  !     Thou  understandest  well 
The  difficulty  that  these  mailed  arms 
Would  meet  in  properly  embracing  thee. 

GUINEVERE. 

Most  true,  my  liege.     And  then  this  gown  I  wear, 
My  mediaeval  milliner's  last  work, 
Would  surely  suffer  from  thy  clasp  of  steel. 
How  like  you  it  ?    Sir  Lancelot  likes  it  well. 

He— 

KING  ARTHUR. 

How  ?     Sir  Lancelot  greeted  thee  ere  I  ? 

LANCELOT   (bowing  humbly]. 
My  lord,  by  merest  accident — no  more. 
The  soil  of  march  had  stained  these  doughty  hands, 
And  fearing  lest  our  Queen  should  chance  on  us 
Ere  seemly  cleansing  helped  them,  I  repaired 


24  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

With  haste  to  yonder  moat  and  dipped  them  there. 
Thy  pardon,  King. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

'Tis  granted  easily. 

GUINEVERE. 

Greeting  to  all  !     This  day  is  framed  in  gold 
Forevermore  within  my  memory  ! 
Now  is  the  last  great  battle  fought  and  won  ! 
Our  castle  here  at  Camelot  shall  to-night 
So  blaze  with  revel  that  the  envying  stars 
Will  wish  their  light  the  cressets  of  our  feast. 

ENID. 

A  hundred  happy  preparations  wait 
The  gay  return  of  our  victorious  kin. 

VIVIEN. 

Already  the  great  oxen  roast  in  hall  ; 
The  tawny  wassail  tempts  the  unsparing  hand  ; 
Fair  garlands,  wreathed  o'er  many  a  lintel,  glow  ; 
And  all  is  prophecy  of  mirthful  peace. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  25 

( The  populace,   male  and  /emale,  now  appear,  joining 
the  troops  and  warmly  saluting  them.) 

THE    POPULACE. 

While  you  abroad  were  daring 

The  foemen's  fatal  spears, 
Our  hearts  at  home  were  bearing 

The  burden  of  our  fears. 
No  cheerful  news  could  brighten 

Our  sorrow,  nor  assuage  ; 
No  telegrams  enlighten 

This  unprogressive  age. 

One  consolation  served  us, 

More  dear  than  you  can  guess, 
And  fortunately  nerved  us 

To  deal  with  our  distress. 
It  was  that  war's  dimension 

Is  yet  of  meagre  span, 
While  powder's  vile  invention 

Remains  unknown  to  man. 


26  THE  NEW  KING  ARl^HUR. 

With  all  its  rush  and  riot, 

The  worst  of  war  to-day 
Is  comfortably  quiet 

Beside  the  future's  fray. 
No  clamorous  bangs  displeasing 

Now  vex  your  valiant  lives, 
With  smoke  to  set  you  sneezing, 

If  still  your  nose  survives. 

Nor  was  it  half  a  trifle 

To  thankfully  recall 
That  no  malicious  rifle 

Had  bored  you  with  its  ball. 
And  well  we  recollected 

Your  risk  was  less  extreme, 
With  bomb-shells  unexpected 

And  dynamite  a  dream. 

To  hear  the  javelin  whistle, 
To  shun  the  hurtling  dart, 

To  dodge  the  desperate  missile, 
Will  try  the  stoutest  heart. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  27 

But  would  the  thought  not  thrill  you 

More  fearfully  by  far, 
Of  cannons  that  could  kill  you 

Three  miles  from  where  you  are  ? 


Your  fate  were  much  inferior 

If  lumps  of  lead  or  zinc 
Could  wander  your  interior 

Before  you'd  time  to  wink  ; 
While  dread  that  seldom  ceases 

Would  bid  you  curse  your  lots, 
Going  up  in  little  pieces 

And  coming  down  in  spots  ! 

O  tenfold  more  terrific 
Your  danger,  to  a  man's, 

If  war  were  scientific 

In  working  out  her  plans  ! 

And  therefore,  warriors  plucky, 
Appreciate  the  boon 


28  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Of  having  been  so  lucky 
In  being  born  so  soon  ! 
{The populace  and  troops  retire,  singing.) 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Since  wine  and  feast  shall  blithely  hail  us  home, 
You,  Lancelot,  lead  the  dance  in  hall  to-night 
With  our  loved  Queen  .  .  .  What,  Merlin,  it  is  you  ? 

MERLIN  (who  has  shown  great  agitation). 
My  lord,  'tis  I,  even  I,  who  thankfully 
Greet  your  return  from  hazard  in  the  field. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Nay,  kiss  not  thus  our  hand,  astrologer, 
Magician,  seer,  and  all  things  mystical. 
We  reverence  too  much  thy  wealth  of  lore, 
King  as  we  are,  to  blush  not  while  we  take 
Obsequious  welcome  from  thy  wizard  lips. 

MERLIN  (in  aside  to  Arthur). 
Sir  King,  let  not  Lord  Lancelot  dance  to-night 
With  Guinevere.     The  stars  themselves  forbid. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  29 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Nay,  Merlin,  art  thou  tricked  with  fantasies, 
Bluff  imps  that  make  the  goblin  residue 
From  spells  and  incantations  of  thy  past, 
Nor  leave  thee  yet,  but  haunt  thy  moods  of  rest, 
As  moths  a  blown-out  candle's  flameless  wick  ? 

MERLIN. 

Not  so,  my  lord  ;  thou  art  in  error  there. 
'Twere  seemlier  that   the   Queen    should    lead  the 

dance 

With  her  true  spouse,  as  courtly  etiquette 
By  right  demands  ;  and  therefore  do  I  speak. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Shrewd  Merlin  !  and  thy  stars  have  told  thee  this  ? 
Considerate  and  accommodating  stars  ! 
Have  they  no  weightier  counsel  for  thine  ears  ? 
Nay,  pardon  if  I  wag  my  beard  in  mirth, 
Dread  augur,  since  thy  potent  oracles 
Grasp  truths  of  such  large  import  to  our  realm. 


30  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

MERLIN. 
Sire,  dost  thou  laugh  at  me  ? 

KING  ARTHUR  (with  much  laughter]. 

No,  by  the  Rood  ! 

I  weep,  good  Merlin,  though  I  grant  these  tears 
Less  kin  to  grief  than  sources  pleasanter. 
Hail,  Master  of  Etiquette  at  Arthur's  court  ! 
Wouldst    clip    thy    robes    to    match    a   doublet's 

length, 

Curl  jauntily  thy  locks  of  snow,  and  don 
Sword,  plume  and  broidered  hose  ?     Why,  so  thou 

shalt, 

If  so  thy  choice,  and  that  first  knight  who  smiles 
At  seeing  the  awful  Merlin  grown  a  fop, 
Shall  forfeit  straight  our  countenance  and  grace  .  .  . 
Look  ye,  my  lords  and  gentlewomen  ;  here 
Doth  age  put  forth  a  flower  of  youth  to  shame 
Your  lustiest  vigor  !     Merlin,  mark  him  well, 
Seeks  new  renown,  and — 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  31 

MERLIN. 

Pause,  I  do  beseech  ! 

(I  dare  not  speak  and  tell  him  all  I  know  !) 
Ah,  flout  me  not  with  raillery,  since  I  warn 
As  eager  friend  and  guardian  of  thy  peace  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Thy  rapid  tongue  and  that  wild  stress  of  gaze 
Convince  me  thou  art  serious. 

MERLIN. 

O  my  lord, 

Bear  with  me  but  a  little  while  till  chance 
Unloose  my  speech  and  I  may  name  the  fear 
It  irks  me  now  to  hide  !  .  .  .     No  more  ...  we  are 
watched  ! 

GUINEVERE  (aside  to  LANCELOT). 
Didst  thou  note  well  how  Merlin  eyed  the  King  ? 
I  quake  with  terror  lest  the  seer  hath  guessed 
What  treacherous  truth  lies  hid  between  us  twain. 


32  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

LANCELOT. 

These  are  but  idle  terrors,  Guinevere. 
Suspicion  harms  no  man  of  my  repute. 
Great  deeds  of  evil  fit  the  great  alone, 
Who  leap  on  them  as  they  that  mount  a  steed 
Untamable  to  feebler  hands  than  theirs. 

GUINEVERE. 

The  deed  thou  hast  in  mind  is  horrible  ; 
It  plucks  the  sleep  from  off  my  lids  o'  nights, 
And  steals,  a  ghost  of  guilt,  to  haunt  the  gloom. 

LANCELOT. 

The  face-wash  that  shall  lend  those  blooming  cheeks 
A  pearlier  beauty  than  of  mortal  tint — 
The  hair-dye  that  shall  stain  each  silken  strand 
Of  those  rich  tresses  into  sunnier  sheen — 
He  has  the  secret  of  them,  Guinevere, 
He,  Merlin,  arch-enchanter,  sorcerer,  sage. 

GUINEVERE. 

I  know.     Yet  Arthur  deems  me  fair  enough  .  .  . 
I  am  his  Queen.     Oh,  Lancelot,  tempt  me  not ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  33 

LANCELOT. 

The  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye — magic  boons, 
Whose  baffling  whereabouts  alone  he  knows. 
Men  say  that  in  the  dusk  of  days  remote 
A  daughter  of  the  stars  who  reigned  as  queen 
O'er  an  immortal  race,  loved  foolishly 
A  mortal,  and  her  subjects,  wroth  at  this, 
Fired  up  and  slew  her  in  her  palace  walls. 

GUINEVERE. 
I  know  the  tale  .  .  .    And  afterward  'twas  told  .  .  . 

LANCELOT. 

That  he,  even  Merlin,  who  has  lived  ten  spans 
Of  usual  life,  and  dies  but  when  he  wills, 
Then  being  a  wizard  in  that  weird  queen's  court, 
Snatched  from  her  piteous  eyes  the  dropping  tears,. 
And  from  her  piteous  wounds  the  rushing  blood, 
In  separate  flasks  of  crystal  hoarding  each. 
And  these  he  yet  retains,  from  that  wild  hour 
Holding  them  sealed  and  hidden,  and  knowing  well 
Their  marvellous  uses  .  .  .   And  they  shall  be  thine  ! 


34  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

GUINEVERE. 

Mine  at  what  cost  ?     If  I  will  filch  for  thee 
The  sacred  sword,  Excalibur,  the  King's 
Unconquerable  blade,  his  pride  and  joy. 

LANCELOT. 

Even  so,  my  Queen.     Excalibur  once  mine, 
Its  fairy  brand  makes  Merlin  do  my  hest. 
And  I,  securing  it,  will  straightway  force 
Delivery  of  the  flasks  to  thy  fair  hands. 

VIVIEN  (covertly  listening). 
'Tis  of  the  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye,  sure, 
That  these  twain  parley  thus  in  whispers  fleet. 

GUINEVERE. 

But  if  I  steal  it  for  thee,  Lancelot, 
Our  realm  will  topple  into  anarchy. 
Unkinged  will  Arthur  be,  and  I  disqueened, 
Our  Table  Round  a  ruin,  and  all  our  fame 
The  jest  of  babblers  in  far  future  times. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  35 

LANCELOT. 

Not  so,  my  Queen.     Possessing  that  famed  sword, 
I  shall  not  linger  here  in  Camelot. 
Hence  will  I  fare,  with  my  own  people  reign, 
Nor  push  my  empery  one  jealous  inch 
Beyond  the  earldom  fated  me  at  birth. 

GUINEVERE. 

But  this  were  wanton  treason  in  itself  .  .  . 
Hast  thou  not  sworn  to  aid  and  serve  the  King  ? 

LANCELOT. 

Thee  will  I  serve  instead.     The  precious  flasks 
Made  thine,  irrevocably  thine,  perchance 
Thou  wilt  become  my  Queen  in  place  of  his  ! 

GUINEVERE. 
Elope  with  thee  !     O  monstrous  impudence  ! 

(She  sings.) 

My  father  was  King  Leodogran, 
An  exceedingly  meritorious  man, 


36  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR, 

With  a  realm  that  the  heathen  over-ran 

In  a  most  distracting  way. 
There  was  never  a  king  so  hard-beset  ; 
He  was  full  of  the  cares  that  irk  and  fret  ; 
He  was  head-over-ears  in  horrid  debt 
That  he  hadn't  the  means  to  pay. 
But  he  brought  me  up  in  a  style  austere, 
And  he  always  advised  me,  "  Guinevere, 
If  you  ever  fall  in  with  a  cavalier 
Who  should  hint  of  an  impropriety,  dear, 
There  is  only  one  thing  to  say  : 
'  Very,  very  witty— but  I  don't  see  the  wit  of  it  ; 
Awfully  obliged— but  no,  not  a  bit  of  it ; 
Many,  many  thanks — good  day  !'  " 

CHORUS  OF  KING,  KNIGHTS  AND  LADIES. 

Her  father  was  King  Leodogran, 
An  unfortunate  impecunious  man, 
Who  was  neither  a  prince  of  plot  and  plan, 
Nor  a  tyrant  of  brutal  sway. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  37 

It  is  all  very  well  to  record  his  debt, 
But  his  creditors  and  his  foes  had  met, 
And  the  first  had  perished  without  regret, 

While  the  last  made  him  still  their  prey. 
Yet  he  reared  his  child  in  a  mode  austere, 
And  he  often  remarked  to  her,  "  Guinevere, 
If  you  ever  fall  in  with  a  knight,  my  dear, 
Whose  deportment  strikes  you  as  insincere, 

Be  polite  but  firm  while  you  say  : 
'  Very,  very  clever — but  I  don't  see  the  wit  of  it ; 
Awfully  obliged — but  no,  not  a  bit  of  it ; 

Many,  many  thanks — good  day  !'  " 

GUINEVERE. 

My  father  was  King  Leodogran, 
An  aristocratic  indigent  man, 
With  an  army  at  best  a  ragged  clan 

And  a  navy  in  sad  decay. 
He  had  only  one  or  two  courtiers  left  ; 
Of  a  parliament  he  was  quite  bereft  ; 


38  THE  NEW  KING   ARTHUR. 

His  crown  had  been  carried  off  by  theft  ; 

His  exchequer  had  gone  astray. 
But  he  still  admonished  me,  "  Guinevere, 
Be  discreet  in  your  feminine  career, 
And  if  wily  charmers  would  dupe  you,  dear, 
So  arrange  that  with  conscience  truly  clear 

You  can  lift  up  your  head  and  say  : 
'  Very,  very  pretty — but  I  don't  see  the  wit  of  it 
Awfully  obliged — but  no,  not  a  bit  of  it  ; 

Many,  many  thanks — good-day  !'  " 

CHORUS  OF  KING,  KNIGHTS  AND  LADIES.. 

Her  father  was  King  Leodogran, 

A  peculiarly  disappointed  man, 

Whose  reign  with  a  flourish  of  drums  began, 

Though  it  ended  in  disarray. 
Corruption  and  bribery  made  him  ill  : 
His  Lord  High  Chancellor  robbed  the  till  ; 
When  the  Royal  Grocer  sent  in  a  bill, 

Its  amount  he  could  not  defray. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  39 

Yet  the  records  and  annals  all  cohere 
That  he  counselled  his  daughter,  Guinevere — 
"  If  you  ever  receive  the  suggestion,  dear, 
To  behave  like  a  moral  mutineer, 

Be  decisive,  and  promptly  say  : 
'  Very,  very  pleasant — but  I  don't  see  the  wit  of  it ; 
Awfully  obliged — but  no,  not  a  bit  of  it  ; 

Many,  many  thanks — good  day  !'  " 


KING  ARTHUR. 

Come,  Guinevere.     Let  us  fare  palaceward. 
Thy  lyric  candor  hath  less  prudence  in  it 
Than  lightsome  truth  .  .  .  You,  Lancelot,  go  with  us  ? 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
Your  Grace,  one  word  with  Merlin,  I  beseech. 

(Omnes  retire  toward  the  palace,  except  MERLIN  and  SIR 
LANCELOT.) 

MERLIN. 

Wouldst  converse  hold  with  me,  Sir  Lancelot  ? 


40  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
Nay,  Merlin,  art  thou  angered  ?     Speak,  I  pray. 

MERLIN. 
Thou  hast  sent  missives  from  the  seat  of  war. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

To  whom  ? 

MERLIN. 
Whom  me  no  whoms.     The  Queen. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
And  thou  hast  read  these  missives,  Merlin — thou  ! 

MERLIN. 

Never  !     But  if  by  magic  art  I  learned 
Their  import,  canst  thou  blame  me  that  I  did  ? 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

I  see.     Thy  magic  art  is  over-bold. 
Wax  melts  in  flame  ;  my  letters  writ  the  Queen 
Were  slyly  intercepted  of  thyself  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR,  41 

MERLIN. 

Mere  son  of  earth,  presume  not  on  my  rights, 
Nor  scoff  them,  lest  thou  writhe  in  punishment. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
Enough.  Thou  hast  read  those  missives.  Then  thou 

know'st 
I  would  possess  Excalibur  for  mine. 

MERLIN. 
Conspirator  !     Dost  thou  dare  tell  me  this  ? 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Hark,  Merlin.     Once  that  mystic  sword  my  own, 
I  rule  instead  of  Arthur.     For  thyself, 
Thou  shalt,  I  swear,  become  Prime  Minister 
Where  thou  art  now  mere  vassal  to  the  king. 

MERLIN. 
Prime    Minister  ?  .  .  .     What  madness  moves  thy 

speech  ? 

The  sword  from  him  who  wields  it  may  not  pass, 
Except  the  Queen  herself,  at  midnight  hour, 


42  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Will  steal  it  with  her  own  fair  hands.     Even  then 
The  earth  would  quake,  hot  lightnings  rend  the  sky. 
And  she,  its  guardian  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
Would  rise  in  wrath,  and  bid  the  Table  Round 
Slay  the  fell  traitor  who  had  urged  this  act. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Meanwhile  the  sword  were  mine.    And,  Merlin,  thou 
Wouldst  be  Prime  Minister  in  my  new  realm. 
Does  Arthur  value  thee  at  thy  fit  worth  ? 
To-day  thou  scarcely  hast  his  jester's  rank. 
As  mountebank,  even  charlatan,  he  holds 
Thy  reverend  self.     Reflect  ere  thou  refuse. 

MERLIN. 

It  was  ages  and  ages  and  ages  ago, 

In  an  antediluvian  time, 

When  my  beard  could  as  now  patriarchally  flow, 
And  my  gaze  had  the  same  supernatural  glow 

Which  at  present  is  thought  so  sublime, 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  43 

That  I  served  with  a  monarch  whose  glory  was 

great, 
As  his  trusted  Secretary  of  State. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

I  am  far  from  objecting  that  then  as  that  now 
You  extended  six  feet  in  your  hose, 

And  that  none  could  with  honesty  dare  disallow 

Your  remarkably  intellectual  brow 
And  your  magisterial  nose, 

When  the  King  who  is  pre-historical  dust 

So  distinguished  you  by  a  prominent  trust. 

MERLIN. 

To   resume    my  remarks  where  you  cut  them  so 
short, 

I  was  not,  as  a  statesman,  exempt 
From  the  fell  office-hunter's  insidious  court, 
From  the  perils  and  snares  of  malicious  report, 

Or  from  bribery's  evil  attempt ; 


44  THE  NEW  KIXG  ARTHUR. 

But   approaches    like    these  I  would     straightway 

subdue 
By  the  withering  glance  that  I  now  bend  on  you. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
If  I  own  that  your  glance  has  a  singular  stress 

Which  reacts  on  my  chief  spinal  nerve, 
I  shall  fail  to  make  manifest,  nevertheless, 
How  you  equally  mortify  as  you  impress 

By  the  probity  that  you  preserve  ; 
Yet  I  beg  very  earnestly  still  to  insist 
That  you  deal  with  no  common  corruptionist. 

MERLIN. 
I  remember  that  once  when  a  knave  had  presumed 

His  perfidious  views  to  expound, 
Though  of  social  distinction  he  blustered  and  fumed, 
I  arranged  that  alive  in  the  earth  he  was  tombed, 

With  his  head  poking  out  above  ground  ; 
And  while  slowly  of  thirst  and  of  hunger  he  died, 
I  assure  you  I  laughed  till  I  really  cried. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  45 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

So  unpleasant  are  vivid  accounts  like  to  these 
When  embellished  with  your  dainty  skill, 
That  I  beg  you  will  bear  it  in  mind,  if  you  please, 
How  my  terrified  marrow  commences  to  freeze 

And  the  roots  of  my  being  to  thrill  ; 
Yet  I  cannot  deny,  notwithstanding  alarm, 
That  my  villainy  wears  an  exceptional  charm. 

MERLIN. 

Oh,  if  then    you    had    shown    me    these    poisonous 

plums 

Which  the  branches  of  treason  contain, 
I  perhaps  would  have  had   you  hung  up  by  your 

thumbs, 
Or   have    put    red-hot    pins    in    your   eyelids    and 

gums, 

While  I  gloated  with  glee  on  your  pain  ; 
For  the  impulse  of  gloating  I  seldom  repress, 
And  I  always  have  gloated  with  striking  success. 


46  THE  NEW  .KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
That  you  gloat  with  a  grace  altogether  your  own, 

You  are  wasting  your  words  to  denote, 
And  indeed  a  sincere  admiration  alone 
Now  impels  me  to  have  my  depravity  known, 

For  the  purpose  of  seeing  you  gloat  ; 
Yet  an  ominous  feeling  my  bosom  has  crost 
That  you  hesitate  and  are  in  consequence  lost. 

MERLIN. 
I  regard  your  assumption  as  wholly  unfair, 

And  conveyed  with  unmerited  scorn, 
Since  the  proud  reputation  I  handsomely  bear 
I  for  ages  and  ages  of  much  wear  and  tear 

Have  with  noteworthy  rectitude  borne  ; 
Yet  the  place  of  Prime  Minister,  all  will  admit, 
Is  a  place  that  my  talents  would  capably  fit. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Strike  hands,  good  necromancer.     Thou  at  last 
Consentest.     Big  the  risk,  yet  big  the  prize. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  47 

MERLIN. 

My  qualms  of  conscience  still  abide  the  same. 
I  feel  myself  provisionally  bad, 
And  that  alone.     You  tempted,  and  I  fell ; 
But  then  you  tempted  fatly. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

So  I  did. 

MERLIN. 

Enough.     My  expiation  may  require 
Perchance  a  thousand  years.     A  trifle,  that, 
To  me,  the  immortal  Merlin,  it  is  true. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

A  trifle  weightless  as  blown  thistledown. 
Had  I  your  same  deep  funds  of  earthly  life, 
By  fits  I  would  be  virtuous  and  by  fits 
The  bacchanal  opposite.     One  century 
The  dusk  of  cloisters  and  the  garb  of  serge, 
The  chill  high-windowed  cell,  with  loaf  and  jug, 
The  sandalled  feet  and  prayer-worn  rosary-beads. 


48  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Next  century,  mirth  and  revel,  dance  and  dice, 
Lights,  music,  diamond  eyes  amid  the  dark 
Of  velvet  masks,  with  folly  a  gilded  toy 
And  grim  sin  painted  all  of  rainbow  hues. 
Monotony  is  pleasure's  bane  and  curse, 
Change  and  variety  are  its  meat  and  wine  ! 

MERLIN. 

Hollow  philosophy,  I  fear,  my  lord  ; 
Yet  hollow  things,  like  wine-cups,  oft  hold  cheer. 
Does  the  Queen  will  to  steal  this  magic  brand  ? 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
To-night,  if  thou  wilt  aid  her  in  the  act. 

MERLIN. 

At  set  of  sun  with  solemn  pomp  I  bless 
The  sword  for  this  great  victory  fought  and  gained, 
While  all  our  people  voice  their  hymn  of  thanks. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Piously  singing  somewhat  out  of  tune — 
I  know  the  ceremony  ;  it  has  made  me  yawn 
Eleven  good  times  already.     Afterward  ? 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  49 

MERLIN. 

I  bear  the  sword  away  and  lock  it  up 
In  the  huge  vault  below  the  castle-moat, 
To  symbolize  its  ancient  years  of  rest 
Deep  in  the  bosom  of  the  lake  whence  rose 
An  arm  that  held  it  forth  as  Arthur's  boon, 
Clothed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Thy  pardon,  mage,  but  were  not  those  last  words 
Quoted  from  some  bard  who  has  framed  this  theme 
In  verse  ?     I  fancy  I  recall  the  line. 

MERLIN. 

Sir  Lancelot,  you  are  grievously  at  fault  ; 
Whatever  else  I  am  or  may  become, 
I  am  and  always  grandly  will  remain 
Original. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
Again  thy  pardon,  seer. 
Tell  more,  I  pray. 


50  THE  NEW  KIXG  ARTHUR. 

MERLIN. 

The  vault  whereof  I  spoke 
Hath  seven  huge  iron  doors,  and  each  of  these 
Is  opened  by  a  separate  massive  key. 
At  end  of  all  a  flight  of  seven  stone  steps, 
Thick-filmed  with  dank  ooze  and  deceptive  slime, 
Leads  to  an  iron  chest  whose  every  nail 
Juts  like  the  clenched  fist  of  a  giant  knight 
From  ponderous  bands  of  steel.     The  Queen's  own 

strength 

Must  lift  the  lid  and  draw  Excalibur 
Out  from  the  chest.     If  there  she  chance  to  fail, 
The  brand  itself  shall  rise  and  smite  her  dead, 
While  thou  and  I,  her  arch-accomplices, 
In  half  the  thinking  of  a  thought,  are  hurled 
With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion  down 
To  bottomless  perdition. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Grace  again  .  .  . 
Thy  last  fine  phrase — was  that  original  ? 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  51 

MERLIN. 

Completely  so,  Sir  Lancelot.     Plagiarism 
Has  never  soiled  my  native  eloquence. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

And  must  the  Queen  this  dangerous  journey  take 
In  utter  darkness  ?    May  she  not  have  light  ? 

MERLIN. 

None,  save  the  light  of  her  intelligence, 
Never  a  torch  of  brilliance  at  its  best. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

You  wrong  her.     She  will  put  her  wit  to  proof 
This  night,  and  if  I  err  not,  test  as  well 
Her  courage  ;  I  will  answer  you  for  both. 

MERLIN. 

'Tis  as  clear  to  my  mind  as  the  commonest  rule 

Mathematical  teachings  beget, 
That  the  Queen  is  a  fool,  and  that  you  are  a  fool, 

And  that  I  am  a  worse  fool  yet. 


52  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

There  are  thousands  of  people  who  envy  our  lot, 
But  we  can't  keep  along  at  a  moderate  trot  ; 
We've  a  devilish  fancy  to  see  how  it  feels 
When  you  break    in  a  gallop   and    kick   up   your 
heels ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
That  is  true  not  alone  of  the  Quean,  you  and  me, 

But  of  all  humankind,  I  am  sure  ; 
There  is  always  one  apple  high  up  on  the  tree 

That  we'd  tear  our  best  clothes  to  secure. 
Though  in  life,  as  it  often  occurs,  we  have  got 
All  the  tidbits  we  need  floating  round  in  our  pot, 
Spite  of  prudence  and  tact  we  must  see  how  it  feels 
To  kick  over  the  pot  while  we  kick  up  our  heels  ! 

MERLIN. 
You're  a  knight  with  a  record  for  brain  and  for 

brawn — 

Guinevere's  royal  rank  who'll  deny  ? — 
As  the  great  court-magician  I  weekly  have  drawn 
From  my  monarch  a  salary  high  ; 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  53 

Yet  although  our   life's  leaves   are   without  the 

least  blot, 
We've  a  strange  inclination  to  wish  they  were 

not ; 

On  the  nice  clean  white  paper,  to  see  how  it  feels, 
We   must   spill  half   the   ink  while  we  kick  up 

our  heels  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
To  obtain  a  king's  throne  fortune's  favor  I  sue  ; 

Guinevere  wants  a  handsomer  lord  ; 
The  portfolio  of  a  Prime  Minister  you 
Have  a  long  time  in  secret  adored. 
Very  likely  'twere  best  we  should  alter  no  jot 
From   the  stations  whose  changes  we  privately 

plot, 

Yet  we've  all  a  temptation  to  see  how  it  feels 
When  at  last  you've  concluded  to  kick  up  your 
heels  ! 

MERLIN. 

What  further  speech  hath  issue  on  this  head 
We  fhlier  should  hold  otherwhere  than  here. 


54  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
True,    Merlin.      These   rude    bastions,    nooks    and 

towers, 
Were  facile  ambush  for  some  envious  ear. 

MERLIN. 
And  such  an  one  is  Modred's. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Fearest  thou 

Sir  Modred,  that  sly  cousin  to  the  King  ? 
Him  of  the  uneasy  eye,  unechoing  tread 
And  bright  prompt  smile  ?     Myself,  I  like  him  not. 

MERLIN. 

If  covert  foe  we  have,  that  foe  is  he. 
Come,  let  us  hence.     Time  fleets,  and  colloquy 
Must  further  shape  this  dark  wild  plan  for  use. 

(MERLIN  and  SIR  LANCELOT  retire  through  an  archway 

of  the  castle.  From  another  egress  MODRED  cautiously 
enters,  followed  by  VIVIEN.) 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  55 

MODRED. 

Their  plot  is  mine  !    Now,  Vivien,  if  the  Queen 

Shall  get  from  Merlin's  hand  the  seven  great  keys 

And  tread  the  slippery  stairs  until  she  clutch 

The  subterranean  sword,  Excalibur, 

Returning  safe  with  it  to  upper  air, 

Why,  then,  what  easier  than  to  crouch  in  wait 

And  seize  it  from  her  grasp  ere  Lancelot  dream  ? 

VIVIEN. 
O  wily  Modred,  wilt  thou  dare  this  thing? 

MODRED. 
Sweet  Vivien,  for  thy  sake  I  would  dare  more. 

VIVIEN. 

Thou  darest  nothing.     Flatter  not  thy  soul 
With  fantasy  of  courage  for  thy  spur. 
Deceit  alone  is  pith  and  kernel  here  ; 
All  else  is  vaunt,  ambition,  treachery  ! 

MODRED. 

Hast  thou  forgot  love,  too,  or  canst  thou  rate 
Such  love  as  mine  a  toy  to  toss  and  lose  ? 


56  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Vivien,  dost  thou  remember  when  we  played, 
Mere  boy  and  girl,  together  on  sea-sands, 
In  sight  of  those  gray  beetling  walls  where  dwelt 
Our  kinsman,  that  bluff  Earl  who  loved  us  both  ? 

VIVIEN. 

Yes,  I  recall.     We  shaped  amid  the  sands 
Full  many  a  castle,  drawbridge,  gate  and  moat  ; 
But  all  were  thine,  or  so  thy  mood  would  claim. 

MOORED. 
All  those  pretty  palaces  of  sand, 

Swept  afar  so  long  by  ocean's  pride, 
Were  but  meant,  if  thou  couldst  understand, 

For  the  little  maiden  at  my  side. 
She  it  was  whose  tender  eyes  and  lips 

All  the  mimic  realm  should  sweetly  sway, 
When  my  fairy  gold  in  fairy  ships 

From  enchanted  isles  had  found  its  way  ! 

While  her  dimpled  face,  in  childish  thought, 
Watched  my  eager  fingers  as  they  plied, 


THE  NEW  KIA'G  ARTHUR.  57 

Happy  was  the  toil  with  which  I  wrought 

For  the  little  maiden  at  my  side. 
Every  tiny  chamber  should  possess 

Riches  past  all  value  and  compare — 
Pearls  that  beam  amid  the  mermaid's  tress, 

Corals  that  the  rosy  sea-caves  bear  ! 

Since  those  idle  moments,  many  a  year, 

Filled  with  shade  or  sun,  has  dawned  and  died. 
Mightier  now  the  palace  I  would  rear 

For  the  statelier  maiden  at  my  side. 
Here  at  last,  in  honor  and  renown, 

She  may  dwell  my  treasured  wife  and  true, 
Wearing  on  her  brows  the  queenly  crown 

That  by  dower  of  beauty  is  her  due  ! 

VIVIEN. 

Modred,  I  wonder  that  thou  trustest  me 
With  this  dread  secret  of  thy  coming  guilt. 
What  earnest  hast  thou  (nay,  let  go  my  hand) 
That  I  will  clamor  not,  with  wrathful  speed, 


58  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Thy  full  intent  where  those  who  learn  its  ill 
May  crush  it  dead  by  dungeon,  chain  or  block  ? 

MODRED. 

Pah,  Vivien,  well  thou  knowest  that  if  I  hold 
Excalibur,  the  power  I  wield  with  it 
Makes  Merlin  serve  me  then  as  Arthur  now. 

VIVIEN. 
What  import  to  myself  if  he  so  serve  ? 

MODRED. 

Nay,  large,  my  subtle  Vivien,  I  can  prove. 
The  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye  Merlin  holds 
He  would  surrender  if  I  held  the  sword. 

VIVIEN. 

The  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye  ?    Thou  in  sooth 
Hast  heard  of  these  long-hoarded  talismans  ? 

MODRED. 

Who  here  at  Camelot  has  not  heard  of  them  ? 
The  little  dusk-haired  page  that  trips  through  hall, 
Bearing  the  flagon  in  his  lifted  clasp, 
Wots  of  the  charms  and  longs  to  test  their  worth. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  59 

VIVIEN. 

And  dost  thou  think  that  I,  Sir  Modred,  I, 
Would  trifle  with  such  witcheries  ?  .  .  .  Thou  hast 

called 

Full  many  a  time  the  Lady  Vivien  fair. 
Would  I  be  fairer,  then,  if  tress  and  tint 
Were  fair  indeed,  as  wrought  so  by  these  arts  ? 

MODRED. 

No  silkier  could  one  strand  of  thy  dear  hair 
Gleam  to  these  eyes,  my  Vivien,  if  so  steeped 
In  sun  its  gay  gold  matched  the  daffodil's  ! 
No  tenderer  would  the  curve  of  that  soft  cheek 
Seem  to  my  sense  if  now  its  olive  tinge 
Were  pinker  than  the  frail  wild-rose's  leaf  ! 
I  love  thee  seeing  that  what  I  love  no  change 
Of  face-wash  or  of  hair-dye  may  annul ! 
Thy  smile — the  beam  of  thy  deep  roguish  gaze — 
The  sorcery  of  thy  dewy  lips — the  arch 
Of  nostril  or  of  brow — would  bide  the  same  ! 
And  more,  the  intelligence — 


60  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 

Enough.     'Tis  plain 
Thou  wouldst  prefer  me  were  I  not  brunette. 

MODRED. 
(How  sweet  to  rouse  her  dainty  jealousy  !) 

VIVIEN. 

(He  does  not  dream  the  wherefore  of  my  wish  ! 
Yet  once  the  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye  mine, 
That  languid  saint,  Sir  Galahad,  whom  I  love, 
Might  melt  and  thrill  where  now  his  mien  is  ice  !) 

MODRED. 

Hast  thou  forgot,  sweet  Vivien,  that  spring  day 
Scarce  one  year  hence,  when  wandering  the  dark 

belt 

Of  beechwood  nigh  to  Camelot's  green  domain, 
I  chanced  upon  thyself  and  heard  thee  sing, 
Dreaming   none  heard  save  some  stray  thrush  ®r 

merle, 

That  pensive  song  beside  a  shaded  pool  ? 
The  limpid  pool  was  mirror  for  thy  face, 


THE  NEIV  KING  ARTHUR.  61 

And  as  a  maiden  to  her  mirror  sings, 

Thou  to  the  shining  mere  didst  pour  thy  plaint. 

VIVIEN. 
I  have  forgot.     (No  lie  was  gliblier  told  !) 

MODRED. 
Nay,-  thou  rememberest.     Sing  the  song  once  more. 

VIVIEN. 
What  were  the  gist  and  lilt  of  that  same  song  ? 

MODRED. 

The  gist  I  know  ;  the  lilt  hath  lost  itself 
In  revery  of  the  love  it  roused  that  day. 
But  this  I  keep  as  record  of  the  song  : 
Thou  didst  deplore  thou  wert  not  born  a  blonde. 

VIVIEN. 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  tell  me, 

Quiet  pool  and  clear, 
Why  it  thus  befell  me 

To  be  mourning  here  ! 


62  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Why  with  unabated 

Woe  do  I  regret 
That  I  was  created 

A  confirmed  brunette  ! 
Why  does  hope  expel  me, 

Like  a  child  from  school  ? 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  tell  me, 

Sleepy  little  pool ! 

Enid's  locks  are  sunny 

As  the  wheat's  ripe  stores  ; 
Golden  as  new  honey 

Lynette's,  Lyonors'; 
Here  alone  I  linger, 

Full  of  yearnings  fond, 
I,  who'd  give  a  finger 

To  have  been  a  blonde  ! 
Why  so  far  excel  me 

Maud,  Yseult,  Gudule, 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  tell  me, 

Placid  little  pool  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  63 

Heavy  is  the  tax  on 

Patience  when  I  see 
That  it  is  un-Saxon 

To  be  dark  like  me. 
Were  I  queen  anointed, 

Still  my  heart  would  fret, 
As  a  disappointed 

And  aggrieved  brunette  ! 
Why  despair  should  quell  me, 

Destiny  o'errule, 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  tell  me, 

Lazy  little  pool ! 

In  my  deep  dejection, 

Pool  so  pure  to  view, 
Cast  me  my  reflection, 

Clad  with  brighter  hue  ! 
Weave  the  sunbeams  in  it, 

While  I  thus  despond  ; 
Let  me  dream  a  minute 

I  was  born  a  blonde  ! 


64  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Why  should  fate  repel  me, 
Why  should  chance  befool, 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  tell  me, 
Silent  little  pool  ! 

MODRED. 
The  song's  true  self  ;  thou  hast  not  missed  a  word. 

VIVIEN. 

(No  hint  of  Galahad  slept  within  the  strain  ; 
'Twas  therefore  safe  to  sing  it  as  I  did.) 

(SiR  GALAHAD  now  appears  from  the  castle, with  bowed 
head,  as  of  one  who  muses  while  he  walks.} 

MODRED. 

Look  where  that  smooth  male  vaunt  of  saintlincss 
Moves  like  the  animate  statue  of  himself, 
Paid  for  ere  death  in  charge  to  his  leal  heirs. 

VIVIEN. 
I  see  ...  I  would  a  word  with  Galahad. 


THE  NEW  KIMG  ARTHUR.  65 

MODRED. 

So  would  not  I  ...  Dear  Vivien,  ere  I  go, 
Thou  wilt  swear  help  and  secrecy  to-night  ? 

VIVIEN. 

Stanch  help  and  secrecy  .  .  .  Why  should  I  not 
So  swear  ?     Alas  !  I  was  not  born  a  blonde  ! 

MODRED. 

Enough.     I  kiss  thy  hand  in  faith  and  troth. 
Farewell,  my  blonde  Queen  that  may  shortly  be  ! 
Shalt  dally  long  with  that  white  peacock,  love  ? 

VIVIEN. 

Nay,  briefly  ...  I  would  question  him  by  stealth, 
Lest  he  dream  aught  of  damage  to  our  plan. 

MODRED. 

Right,  Vivien.     Let  me  read  those  lucid  eyes  .  .  . 
And  so  thou  lov'st  me  now  I  may  be  King  ? 
Ah,  woman,  woman,  weak  as  thou  wert  made, 
What  strength  is  in  thy  love  for  worldly  power  ! 
Well,  if  thou  love  the  place  I  lift  thee  to, 
I'll  dream  thou  still  dost  prize  the  hand  that  lifts  ! 


66  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 
In  that  hand's  grip  thou  hast  a  mighty  faith. 

MODRED. 

Why  not  ?     If  I  can  seize  Excalibur, 
Much  of  the  soldiery,  this  warrant  seen, 
Will  join  me  in  revolt,  since  I  am  held 
As  one  of  Arthur's  family  by  near 
Relationship — or  shall  I  rather  say 
Pendragonship  ? — to  our  sworn  liege,  the  King. 
Ah,  yes,  that  brand,  once  flourished,  will  convince 
These  dolts  that  Heaven  with  Arthur  is  at  odds, 
And  that  to  me,  his  kinsman,  Modred,  falls 
The  right  to  lead  and  rule  them  how  I  list. 
But  Lancelot  as  an  alien  they  would  hold, 
Nor  pay  his  hest  a  shred  of  courtesy, 
He  being  of  other  than  the  princely  line  .  .  . 
Note  well  this  grade  of  difference  in  our  states, 
My  Vivien,  and  so  hug  ambition  close  .  .  . 
Again  farewell,  my  Queen  that  soon  shall  be  ! 
Grant  me  one  kiss  . 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  67 

VIVIEN. 

Nay,  not  till  I  am  Queen. 

MODRED. 

Unpitying  girl  !  .  .  .    Well,  be  it  thus  indeed  ! 
Ere  the  great  pomp  is  holden  we  shall  meet, 
And  in  the  dance  thy  white  hand  shall  I  claim  .  . 
I  trust  thee  with  that  self-swamped  Galahad  ! 
Again,  remember — and  again,  farewell  ! 

(MODRED  disappears  into  th:  castle,  scornfully  watched  bv 
VIVIEN.) 

VIVIEN. 

/  mate  with  thee,  thou  soul  packed  thick  with  spites  ! 
And  thou  hast  trusted  me  !   Even  so  we  trust 
The  wave  that  drowns  us  or  the  drug  that  slays  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
What  voice  was  that  ?     Ah,  Lady  Vivien,  thine  ? 

VIVIEN. 

Yes,  mine.     Did  I  hold  converse  with  myself 
Unwittingly  ?     If  so,  I  crave  thy  grace. 


68  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
Sure  none  were  easier  rendered  than  mine  own. 

VIVIEN. 

Thou,  too,  wert  lost  in  musing.     May  I  seek 
To  learn  what  drooped  thy  head  so  sombrely  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Sweet  Vivien,  if  I  mused  it  must  have  been 
On  mine  own  superhuman  purity. 

VIVIEN. 

Ah,  true.     But  purity  and  coldness  wed  .  .  . 
Sir  Galahad,  art  thou  cold  as  thou  art  pure  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Meseems  I  am  peculiarly  cold  .  .  . 
I  know  not  .  .  .  Were  I  grosser  I  might  tell 
The  measure  of  mine  own  frigidity 
In  way  more  accurate.     Yet  I  do  think 
I  am  exceeding  cold.    What  thinkest  thou  ? 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  69 

VIVIEN. 

What  think  I  ?     No  bare  northland  berg  that  lifts 
A  glassy  spire  in  arctic  air  is  more 
Cold  to  its  clime's  dim  heaven  than  thou  to  love  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Love  ?    What  is  love  ?   I  oft  have  heard  it  named, 
And  oft  have  fancied  that  I  lack  it  not. 
Myself  I  love,  and  virtue — which  are  one  .  .  . 
And  nicety  of  deportment  .  .  . 

VIVIEN. 

Well,  what  more  ? 
SIR  GALAHAD. 

And  meats  or  fish  in  season,  deftly  cooked, 
Especially  with  sauce  of  proper  spice. 

VIVIEN. 
Thou  questionest  what  love  is  ...     I  will  tell  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
Pray,  tell  ;  and  I  with  zest  of  heed  shall  hark. 


70  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 
Love  is  a  temple  all  alone, 

Pure-white  and  small  of  scope, 
Not  built  of  wood,  not  built  of  stone, 
But  built  of  something  that  is  known 

To  human  hearts  as  hope. 
And  here  the  lover's  foot  will  steal, 
And  here  the  lover  oft  will  kneel, 

Perchance  when  no  one  cares, 
His  love  in  secret  to  reveal, 

With  tender  tears  and  prayers  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

If  love  the  soul  endue 

With  loyalty  so  true, 

Then  surely  love  must  be  above 

All  joys  I  ever  knew  ! 

VIVIEN. 

Love  is  a  garden  whose  delights 
May  lovers  only  know  ; 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  71 

A  garden  that  is  always  night's, 

Where  westward  from  her  starry  heights 

A  summer  moon  drops  low  ; 
Where  urns  of  glossy  myrtles  beam, 
Where  statues  from  the  terrace  gleam, 

Where  pale  cool  fountains  pour, 
And  lovers  in  delicious  dream 

Go  wandering  evermore  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
If  love  may  so  invite 
King  Arthur's  virgin  knight, 
Then  love  indeed  must  far  exceed 
The  rhymes  that  poets  write  ! 

VIVIEN. 
Love  is  a  forest  in  whose  deep 

A  stream's  clear  waters  glide  ; 
And  many  a  mortal  here  doth  creep, 
His  thirsting  lips  to  lean  and  steep 

Amid  the  crystal  tide. 


72  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

But  soon,  with  hearts  that  sadly  sink, 
They  linger  by  that  river's  brink, 

And  feel  its  waves  accurst ; 
For  ah,  the  longer  that  they  drink 

The  deadlier  grows  their  thirst ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
If  love  to  such  excess 
May  ban  as  well  as  bless, 
Then  love  must  hide  a  seamy  side 
Of  curious  ugliness  ! 

VIVIEN. 
Love  is  a  land  where  dead  leaves  fall 

And  wild-flowers  droop  their  blooms  ; 
A  land  that  ever  feels  the  thrall 
Of  sorrowing  winds  that  moan  and  call 

Like  voices  out  of  tombs. 
And  here  wan  lovers  roam  forlorn, 
Each  with  a  rose-crown  he  has  worn 

In  merrier  moods  than  now  ; 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  73 

For  every  rose  has  turned  a  thorn 
That  wounds  its  wearer's  brow  ! 


SIR  GALAHAD. 

If  love  through  storm  and  sun 
So  strange  a  course  can  run, 
Then  love's  a  bane  that  any  sane 
Philosopher  should  shun  ! 


VIVIEN. 

Love  keeps  a  joy  to  match  its  worst  of  woe, 
And  worst  its  woe  when  we  have  loved  where  lies 
A  blank  of  dead  indifference  .  .  like  thine  own  !  .  . 
Thou  sighest,  Galahad  ;  wherefore  dost  thou  sigh  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

I  sigh  to  think  how  many  maids  there  be 
On  whom  my  dead  indifference  must  have  wrought 
This  woe  thou  paintest  in  such  dreary  phrase. 


74  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 

Nay,  them  art  wrong.     Thy  comeliness  perchance 
Allures  full  many  a  maid,  or  touches  her 
With  spleen  of  slighted  vanity.     But  this 
Means  not  the  grief  of  loving  without  hope. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Then  no  maids  love  me  ?     Ah,  how  glad  I  am  ! 
I  merely  rouse  their  wish  that  I  would  woo  ? 
'Tis  well  ;  I  hate  to  even  account  myself 
As  irresponsibly  responsible 
For  broken  hearts  I  had  no  aim  to  break. 

VIVIEN. 

Nay,  Galahad,  'tis  not  entirely  so  ! 
I  know  one  maid  whose  heart  is  bent  for  thee — 
Bent  cruelly,  if  not  yet  quite  broke  in  twain. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Pray,  tell  me  of  this  maid.     'Twould  pleasure  me 
To  know  her  and  console  her  if  I  could. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  75 

VIVIEN. 

What  balm  of  consolation  wouldst  thou  bring 
The  sharp  distemper  of  her  troubled  soul  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

I  should  advise  her  with  due  haste  to  seek 
A  nunnery,  since  having  loved  myself, 
She  could  not  stoop  to  lower  than  myself, 
And  therefore  must  win  recompense  alone 
In  pious  raptures  taught  by  holy  deeds. 

VIVIEN. 

But  if  she  were  too  worldly  for  this  task 
Of  self-abasement  ? — if  men  deemed  her  fair, 
And  by  the  power  of  beauty,  wit  and  grace 
She  dreamed  of  kindling  from  thy  lethargy 
A  leap  of  flame  as  vital  as  her  own  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

I  should  deplore  her  motive,  were  it  seen, 
And  recommend  a  nunnery,  all  the  same. 


76  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 

0  pitiless  !  has  fancy  never  shaped 

From  shadow  a  life  whose  love  thou  couldst  hold 
dear? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

No,  never  .  .  .     Stay,  thy  question  doth  recall 
A  vision  which  at  times  hath  haunted  me. 
It  looked  so  pure  and  beautiful,  I  thought 
At  first  it  was  my  own  similitude. 
But  later  it  convinced  me  that  I  erred, 
And  that  the  sex  it  bore  was  feminine. 

VIVIEN. 

And  thou  didst  love  this  vision,  Galahad  ? 
Oh,  tell  me  more  !  .  .  .     What  color  were  its  eyes  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
Strange,  Vivien,  that  while  closer  scanning  thee 

1  do  remember,  past  a  gleam  of  doubt, 
That  it  had  eyes  both  hued  and  lit  like  thine. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  77 

VIVIEN. 

(O  Heaven  !     Wild  heart,  thy  riot  pulses  curb  !) 
Yes,  Galahad — and  what  more  ?  Pray,  had  it  wings  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

It  did  not  necessarily  have  wings  ; 
I  think  wings  were  not  indispensable 
To  its  angelical  anatomy. 
But  ah,  its  hair  !  .  .  .  a  glory  of  living  gold, 
An  aureole  of  splendor,  like  a  saint's  ! 

VIVIEN. 
I  mark  thee  well.     This  vision  was  a  blonde. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
It  was.     An  English,  Early-English  blonde. 

VIVIEN. 

And  I,  whose  mortal  eyes  thou  late  hast  called 
Like  to  thy  vision's —  /  am  a  brunette  ! 
And  yet,  O  Galahad,  if  my  hair  were  hers — 


78  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

If  by  some  trick  of  magic  change  these  locks 
Took  radiance  vivid  as  thy  vision's  owned, 
Wouldst    thou,  or  couldst  thou,  Galahad  —  O  my 

star 

Of  knightly  sanctity  and  manful  worth  ! — 
Wouldst  thou,  or  couldst  thou — ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Lady,  I  could  not ! 

VIVIEN. 
At  last  the  truth  is  clear  to  thee — at  last ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
It  is,  at  last,  and  thou  hast  made  it  so. 

VIVIEN. 
And  all  thine  answer  is  thy  silent  scorn  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
Scorn  ?     Nay,  I  recommend  a  nunnery. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  79 

(He  sings) 

I  consider  you,  let  me  candidly  to  your  face  respond, 
Not  as  perfectly  satisfactory  as  I  would  a  blonde. 
Yet  in  ranking  me  as  a  personage  who  to  wed  were 

fain, 

You  have  totally  misinterpreted,  I  must  here  main- 
tain. 

Not  to  Galahad,  as  to  Percivale,  Bedivere,  Geraint, 
May   the    argument    matrimonial    its    allurements 

paint  ; 

For  the  solitude  of  a  celibate  I  prefer — and  so, 
To  a  nunnery,  to  a  nunnery — go,  go,  go  ! 

VIVIEN. 
An    indifference    more    contemptuous    you    could 

scarcely  reach, 
And  the  magnitude  of   my  misery    is  beyond    all 

speech. 

I  am  confident  you'd  reciprocate  the  regard  I  bear, 
Could  I  possibly  make  it  manifest  in  my  head  of 

hair  ; 


8o  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR, 

The  affinity  you  have  told  me  of  would  in  mist  ab- 
scond, 

Opportunity  being  given  me  to  become  a  blonde  ; 

And  you'd  say  to  me  self-reproachfully,  with  your 
heart  aglow, 

"  To  a  nunnery  ?  to  a  nunnery  ? — no,  no,  no  !" 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

'Twould  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  sensation 
strange 

That  I  certainly  should  experience  at  so  great  a 
change ; 

But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  quality  of  my  pure  repute 

Should  reveal  to  you  how  unpractical  is  your  pres- 
ent suit ; 

For  so  thoroughly  unconnubial  are  the  views  I  hold, 

Their  solidity  would  be  permanent  if  your  hair 
turned  gold. 

Aad  in  consequence  I  reiterate  the  remark  you 
know — 

"To  a  nunnery,  to  a  nunnery — go,  go,  go  !" 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  8 1 

VIVIEN. 

I  am  obstinate  in  the  attitude  which  I  now  assume — 
That   a   physical   incapacity   has   pronounced    my 

doom  ; 

I  insist  upon  being  positive  that  my  hair's  dark  tint 
Is  accountable  for  the  prejudice  that  you  more  than 

hint ; 
And  I  prophesy,  O  my  Galahad,  that  the  hour  draws 

near 
When  the  evidence  of  your  sympathy  will  at  last 

appear, 
And  you'll  say  to  me,  self-accusingly,  while  vour 

eyes  o'erflow — 
"  To  a  nunnery  ?  to  a  nunnery  ? — no,  no,  no  !" 

(VIVIEN  now  disappears  into  the  castle?) 

SIR  GALAHAD  (alone). 

What  meant  she  by  that  mood  of  prophecy  ? 
Poor  maid  !   can  she  have  dreamed  her  locks  and 
face 


82  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Will  feel  the  touch  of  those  weird  lotions  hid 

By  Merlin  through  so  many  a  century  ? 

I  dare  be  sworn  the  girl  hath  some  pet  scheme 

To  win  these  flasks  of  the  great  seer  by  trick 

Of  flattery,  or  mock  love's  insidious  guile. 

Ah,  doubly  foiled,  if  such  indeed  her  aim, 

Since  one  as  well  might  hope  that  yonder  towers 

Would  push  from  battlement  or  barbacan 

A  growth  of  living  leaves,  as  Merlin  thrill 

To  blandishments  her  smiles  could  whelm  him  with. 

Age  hath  made  pale  the  ruby  in  his  blood, 

As  virtue  long  hath  tamed  the  ripple  in  mine. 

(KiNG  ARTHUR  and  all  his  knights,  ladies,  etc.,  appear 
from  the  castle,  the  populace  also  following.  Lastly 
enters  MERLIN,  clad  in  priestly  robes,  holding  aloft  the 
magic  sword,  Excalibur.) 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Now  for  the  rites  that  will  simply  and  totally    • 
Mighty  Excalibur's  praises  attest, 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  83 

Ere  he  is  once  again  put  sacerdotally 
Down  underground  in  his  magical  chest. 

Never  was  blade  that  excelled  by  comparison 
This  one  in  temper  or  finish  at  all, 

Fit  to  extinguish  the  Turk  or  the  Saracen, 
Fit  to  eradicate  Roman  or  Gaul. 


Nothing  could  vex  curiosity  crueller 

Than  to  determine  the  source  of  his  craft  .  . 
Who  was  the  antediluvian  jeweller 

Able  to  shape  that  magnificent  haft  ? 
Yet  should  my  fancy  endeavor  to  speculate 

How  such  a  marvellous  weapon  was  made, 
I  should  be  tempted  by  falsehood  to  peculate, 

Since,  like  myself,  he's  a  fabulous  blade  ! 

Still,  when  we  gaze  on  his  exquisite  mystery — 
Steel,  silver,  jewels  and  gold  interblent — 

Something  we  guess  of  his  actual  history 
From  the  appearance  we  see  him  present. 


84  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Much  of  him  seems  to  conclusively  indicate 
That  he  resulted  from  some  sort  of  queer 

Silversmith-blacksmith-and  jeweller  syndicate, 
Gone  out  of  partnership  many  a  year  ! 

If  he  could  speak,  what  a  record  of  victory 

Would  there  be  found  in  the  words  he  would  say, 
Causing  so  often,  without  valedictory, 

Many  a  hero  to  vanish  away  ! 
He,  of  our  commonweal  chief  representative, 

Makes  opposition  disclose  its  weak  joint, 
And  if  inclined  to  become  argumentative, 

Doesn't  beg  questions,  but  forces  his  point  ! 

Though  at  his  doings  (I  mention  with  jollity) 

Many  the  critics  who  cavil  and  carp, 
Dulness  at  least  is  by  no  means  his  quality, 

All  guaranteeing  him  notably  sharp. 
Justice,  moreover,  should  say  with  sincerity, 

Ere  its  account  of  him  properly  ends, 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  85 

That  while  he  treats  all  his  foes  with  asperity, 
No  one  can  charge  him  with  cutting  his  friends  ! 

Persons  whose  peaceable  souls  would  abolish  him, 

As  the  rude  symbol  of  rapine  and  fray, 
Rude  as  he  is,  must  allow  they  could  polish  him 

Not  any  more  than  he's  polished  to-day. 
Nay,  while  his  coarseness  and  lack  of  gentility 

Haters  of  war  with  invective  would  flood, 
Who  can  refuse  him  the  right  and  ability, 

Odd  though  it  seems,  to  be  proud  of  his  blood  ? 


CHORUS  OF  KNIGHTS,  LADIES  AND  POPULACE. 

No  more  thy  strokes  we  need, 

Our  foes  in  flight  to  stir. 
Farewell,  thou  friend  indeed, 
Farewell,  thou  famous  magic  brand,  Excalibur  ! 

Into  thy  vault  below 

The  castle's  moat,  O  sword, 


86 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 


To  slumber  dost  thou  go, 
Desired  no  longer  by  our  leader  and  our  lord  ! 

Let  Merlin  bear  thee  hence, 

Unlock  the  seven  huge  gates, 
And  drop  with  reverence 
Thy  stalwart  body  where  its  mystic  chest  awaits  ! 

Oh,  down  the  seven  steep  stairs 

Heed  lest  thou  tumble  not  ; 
Firm  be  the  hand  that  bears 
Excalibur  to  his  dark  resting-spot  ! 

O  Merlin,  let  no  rat 

Thy  foot  too  quickly  curb, 
No  surreptitious  bat, 

No  grim   clandestine    mouse  thine    equipoise    dis- 
turb ! 


Be  brave  as  thou  art  wise  ; 

The  stairs  are  slimed  with  ooze. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  87 

And  therefore  we  advise, 
O  Merlin,  that  thou  shalt  put  on  thine  over-shoes  ! 

O  think  how  shame  would  crush 
Thy  soul  if  thou  shouldst  wash 
That  sacred  sword  in  slush, 
Because  thou  didst  not  wear  the  requisite  galosh  ! 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

With  terrible  despatch 
Her  stern  revenge  would  take 

If   thou   shouldst   even   employ  a  single   sulphur- 
match  ! 

Thy  journey  must  be  free 

From  any  guiding  spark  ; 
By  absolute  decree 
Excalibur  must  go  to  bed  quite  in  the  dark. 

O  noble  sword,  thy  might 
In  happiness  we  shelve, 


88  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Since  thou  hast  come  to  fight 
The  last  great  battle  of  the  fated  twelve. 

Farewell,  secure  from  fray  ; 

And  shouldst  thou  crave,  instead, 
For  further  foes  to  slay, 

We   should    reply,    "Not  any,  thank   thee — go   to 
bed." 

Superbly  canst  thou  strike, 

As  we  in  memory  keep, 
Yet  we  confess  we  like 
Thee  best,  Excalibur,  when  thou  art  fast  asleep. 

Of  course  on  moor  or  fen 

Thy  prowess  all  aver, 
But  we've  observed  that  then 
The  orphans  and  the  widows  frequently  occur.  .  .  . 

And  so  farewell,  farewell,  farewell,  Excalibur  ! 
In  slumber's  holy  spell 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  89 

Long  may  thy  grandeur  dwell, — 
Yes,  even  till  Doomsday's  knell, 
Farewell,  farewell,  farewell, 
Our  glorious  and  victorious  sword,  Excalibur  ! 

(MERLIN  moves  toward  the  castle,  bearing  the  sword 
aloft,  followed  reverently  by  KING  ARTHUR,  the 
knights,  ladies  and  populace?) 


END    OF    ACT    I. 


ACT    II. 


ACT    II. 

SCENE  :  A  garden,  with  stately  adornments,  opening 
back  upon  the  main  hallway  of  KING  ARTHUR'S  castle. 
On  one  hand  are  the  towers  of  the  castle,  crowding  high 
up  into  a  moonlit  heaven.  On  the  other  hand  we  have 
a  glimpse  of  the  moonlit  moat,  and  beneath  it  an  iron 
door,  closed.  Defensive  battlements  are  visible  still  far- 
ther on,  at  this  side  of  the  royal  demesne.  The  time  is  a 
little  before  midnight.  Distant  music  is  heard,  and  the 
lights  of  a  revel  are  seen,  beyond  the  archway  at  back, 

Enter  SIR  GALAHAD,  musing  pensively. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

With  mercy  I  was  harsh  to  Vivien. 

Best  shatter  as  I  did  by  one  stout  blow 

The  breadth  and  height  of  her  infatuate  hope  ! 


94  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

I  think,  in  spite  of  what  her  speech  averred, 

That  she  is  only  one  of  many  maids 

Who  bear  me  this  devout  idolatry. 

Why  should  not  many  another  worship  me  ? 

And  is  it  Vanity  to  deem  they  should  ? 

I  am  not  sure  if  modesty  at  all 

Concern  a  being  as  perfect  as  myself  .  .  . 

Now,  am  I  wrong  to  argue  in  this  wise  ? 

If  I  esteemed  it  wrong  I  straight  should  fast — 

As  I  do  fast  if  any  speck  of  blame 

Seem  like  to  mar  the  unblemished  life  I  live. 

That  is,  I  would  abstain  from  ale  at  lunch, 

And  were  my  slice  of  capon  dressed  to  taste, 

I  would  with  pious  rigor  shake  my  head 

At  thought  of  second  helping.     Praise  of  self, 

In  one  so  superexcellently  pure 

As  I  were  mad  to  claim  that  I  were  not, 

Would  scarce  be  more  than  common  sense  of  worth. 

We  would  not  chide  the  lily  if  her  white  lips 

Found  voice  one  day  to  tell  the  passing  breeze, 

"  I  am  a  lily  and  sweetly  free  from  stain." 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  95 

Why,  therefore,  when  I  say  that  Galahad 
Is  quite  exceptionally  void  of  sin, 
Should  I  be  held  to  boast  by  faultier  minds  ? 
No,  on  mature  reflection,  I  will  take 
My  usual  share  of  capon  when  I  lunch, 
Or  even  my  pasty  (should  a  pasty  tempt), 
Or  even  two  cups  of  ale  (if  thirst  be  keen), 
And  relish  all  with  humble  appetite 
And  holy  veneration  of  myself. 

(He  sings ^ 

And  yet  what  worldly  thought  hath  shed 

Its  power  across  my  soul  ? 
If  Vivien  had  a  golden  head, 

Could  I  my  love  control  ? 
If  gold  the  head  of  Vivien  clad, 

Were  love  so  lightly  tamed  ?  .  .  . 

0  Galahad,  O  Galahad, 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  ! 

1  quite  detest  this  feeling  new 
That  wakes  my  self-contempt  ; 


96  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

If  Vivien's  locks  were  gold  of  hue, 
Would  love  my  heart  exempt  ? 

Ah,  truth  were  best  (when  turned  so  sad) 
By  harmless  fibs  disclaimed  .  .  . 

O  Galahad,  O  Galahad, 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  ! 

In  high  alarm  do  I  resent 

This  firm  but  fatal  bond 
Of  unexpected  sentiment 

For  Vivien  as  a  blonde. 
Against  my  will  it  makes  me  glad 

With  happiness  unnamed  .  .  . 
O  Galahad,  O  Galahad, 

You  ought  to  be  ashamed  ! 

Can  I  believe  that  love  would  set 

Her  raptures  in  my  reach, 
If  Vivien,  who  is  now  brunette, 

Should  ever  chance  to  bleach  ? 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  97 

As  one  who  slips  from  good  to  bad, 

With  fear  I  am  inflamed  .  .  . 
O  Galahad,  O  Galahad, 

You  ought  to  be  ashamed  ! 

(SiR  GALAHAD  moves  mournfully  away,  -while  a  chorus  of 
revellers  begins  from  within  the  castle) 

CHORUS  OF  REVELLERS. 

With  feast  and  sport 

We  now  consort, 
The  merry  dames  of  Arthur's  court ; 

While  joys  abound 

We  here  are  found, 
The  Knights  of  Arthur's  Table  Round. 

With  nimble  feet 

We  form  and  fleet, 
In  many  a  measure  soft  and  sweet ; 

With  shining  eyes, 

With  happy  sighs, 
We  dance  till  dawn  shall  scale  the  skies  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Oh,  dance  and  sing, 

While  pages  bring 
The  cups  where  golden  dragons  cling  ; 

Oh,  dance  and  drink, 

With  cups  that  clink, 
And  loitering  hands  that  interlink  ! 

Oh,  "all  is  well" 

The  sentinel 
To  Camelot's  town  will  shortly  tell, 

When  proudly,  soon, 

At  night's  mid-noon, 
The  towers  of  Camelot  meet  the  moon  ! 


But  we  who  quaff, 

In  mirth's  behalf 
The  wine  where  lustres  leap  and  laugh, 

We  dance  the  more 

While  many  a  score 
Of  sleepy  burghers  toss  and  snore. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  99 

In  pomp  and  pride 

The  galleries  glide, 
By  mantling  banners  glorified, 

Or  glittering  tiers 

Of  chandeliers 
On  helms  of  glittering  halberdiers. 

At  times  we  seem 

Like  shapes  of  dream 
That  out  from  shadowy  legends  gleam  ; 

At  times  we  throng 

As  they  who  long 
Were  ghosts  of  story  and  of  song  ! 

At  times  we  hear, 

Or  faint  or  clear, 
A  phantom  voice  amid  our  cheer  ; 

A  wandering  air 

The  words  will  bear, 
"  Ye  are  not  and  ye  never  were  !" 


100  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Oh,  dance  with  glee, 

For  what  know  we 
Of  things  that  are  and  things  to  be  ? 

Oh,  pour  anew 

The  wine,  for  who 
Hath  power  to  part  the  false  from  true  ? 

Oh,  Merlin  sage, 

All  gray  with  age, 
Dost  thou  know  more  than  prince  or  page  ? 

Go,  teach  thy  spells, 

Where  wisdom  dwells, 
To  Dagonet,  with  his  cap-and-bells  ! 

Thy  learning  school, 

By  rote  and  rule, 
With  good  King  Arthur's  gaudy  fool  ! 

For  Dagonet  now 

Can  guess,  we  vow, 
The  riddle  of  life  as  well  as  thou  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  101 

We  all  are  here, 

In  festal  gear, 
Gawain,  Geraint  and  Bedivere  ; 

We  all  are  met, 

Elaine,  Lynette, 
And  hosts  of  lovelier  ladies  yet  ! 

With  jest  and  wile, 

With  quip  and  smile, 
The  hours  of  banquet  we  beguile — 

With  cups  that  clink, 

And  blushes  pink, 
And  loitering  hands  that  interlink  ! 

Oh,  speed  the  rout, 

And  round  about, 
For  life's  a  dream  and  death's  a  doubt ! 

Oh,  pour  the  wine, 

For  who  shall  sign 
The  bounds  of  human  and  divine  ? 


102  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Oh,  circle  well, 

For  who  can  tell 
The  day  that  brings  the  funeral-bell  ? 

Oh,  fill  the  bowls, 

And  when  it  tolls, 
May  Saints  have  mercy  on  our  souls ! 

With  wines  that  wink 

And  cups  that  clink, 
And  loitering  hands  that  interlink, 

In  feast  and  sport 

We  now  consort, 
The  knights  and  dames  of  Arthur's  court ! 

(MERLIN  now  slowly  enters,  and  pauses  in  revery.} 

MERLIN. 

The  tenor  of  their  wine-song  likes  me  not. 
Modred  was  right.     My  old  prestige  is  lost. 
They  rank  me  half  in  jeer  with  Arthur's  fool, 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  103 

That  grinning  Dagonet,  whose  wry  wit  can  strike 

With  random  malice,  like  a  smitten  snake. 

Oh,  well  it  is  temptation  comes  my  way  ; 

Had  Lancelot  failed  to  tempt,  I  must  have  made 

Some  other  shift  to  work  my  vengeful  spleen. 

I  wonder,  now  and  then,  if  dame  or  lord 

Have  chanced,  by  rumor  led  or  by  surmise, 

On  the  cold  ugly  truth  that  I  am  not 

Wholly  the  same  miraculous  personage 

I  rate  myself  .  .  .    Who's  there  ?    'Tis  thou,  sir  fool  ? 

(DAGONET,  the  fool,  has  cautiously  entered?) 

DAGONET. 

Hats  off,  good  Merlin,  when  the  fool  draws  nigh. 

He's  king,  thou  knowest  it  well,  when  t'other  fool, 

His  royal  master,  doth  fool  otherwhere. 

Nay,  I  miss  terms  ;  thou  dost  not  don  a  hat  ; 

Thou  hast  but  several  centuries  of  hair, 

White  as  the  whitest  plume  the  goose  can  vaunt. 


104  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

MERLIN. 

Peace,  peace,  thou  fool.     The  seneschals  within 
Will  give  thee  cakes  and  comfits  of  thy  fill. 
Get  hence.     I  muse. 

DAGONET. 

Nay,  Merlin,  so  do  I. 

MERLIN. 
Pray,  fool,  on  what  large  matter  dost  thou  muse  ? 

DAGONET. 

On  my  huge  age.     That  I,  last  birthday,  reached 
Three  thousand  years  of  life — and  live  to  tell't. 

MERLIN. 

Thou  mockest  me,  thou  wriggling  eel  of  man. 
I  think  thy  head  is  like  the  viper's  own — 
The  brains  of  it  pushed  out  by  venom.     Go  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  105 

DAGOXET. 

Now,  marry,  if  a  man  hath  skill  enough, 
I  see  not  why  he  should  lack  power  to  be 
Immortal  .  .  .  till  he  dies. 

MERLIN. 

What  saidst  thou,  knave  ? 

DAGONET. 

Xay,  never  knave,  good  Merlin — always  fool  ; 
A  most  complaisant  fool,  withal,  and  one 
That  knows  to  keep  a  secret  jealously, 

As  magpies  keep  their  spoil. 

(He  laughs  gleefully^ 

MERLIN. 

What  secret,  pray  ? 

I  warrant  'twas  a  worse  fool  than  thyself 
Who  gave  thee  one. 

DAGONET. 

What  I  do  know  I  know  ! 


106  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

(He  sings.) 

At  Camelot  town, 
With  staff  and  gown, 

A  seer  doth  dwell  in  great  renown. 
Of  stars  and  moon, 
His  comrades  boon, 

He  chants  in  many  a  mystic  rune. 

He  claims  to  deal, 
For  woe  or  weal, 

In  spells  and  charms  that  hurt  or  heal- 
To  plot  and  plan, 
By  curse  and  ban, 

By  amulet  and  by  talisman. 

Perchance  'tis  true, 

Howe'er  they  grew, 
His  powers  of  magic  are  not  few  ; 

Beside  him  here, 

I  scent  a  queer 
Unsavory  brimstone  atmosphere. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  107 

But  when  he  states 

His  birthday  dates 
Beyond  the  Flood,  he — fabricates. 

And  when  he  cries 

He  never  dies, 
Why,  Dagonet,  then,  declares  he  lies  ! 

CHORUS  OF  REVELLERS  (heard  within). 

O  Merlin  sage, 

All  gray  with  age, 
Dost  thou  know  more  than  prince  or  page  ? 

Go  teach  thy  spells, 

Where  wisdom  dwells, 
To  Dagonet,  with  his  cap-and-bells  ! 

DAGONET  (dancing  scornfully]. 

O  mighty  mage, 
Believed  so  sage, 
We  both  are  fools,  and  earn  our  wage. 


io8  THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

O  seer  most  high, 
You're  young  as  I  ; 
You  say  you're  not,  but  you  know  you  lie  ! 

CHORUS  OF  REVELLERS. 

O  Merlin,  school 

By  rote  and  rule 
Thy  learning  with  King  Arthur's  fool  ; 

For  Dagonet  now 

Can  guess,  we  vow, 
The  riddle  of  life  as  well  as  thou  ! 

DAGONET  (dancing  before  MERLIN  while  he  recedes}. 
Ah,  go  to  school, 
From  now  till  Yule, 
To  Dagonet,  good  King  Arthur's  fool. 
For  when  you  cry 
You'll  never  die, 

You  don't  prevaricate — no,  you  lie  ! 
(MERLIN  disappears  into  the  castle,  DAGONET  dancing 
before  him?) 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  109 

DAGONET  (alone). 
By   these   white   moonbeams    folding    these   gray 

towers, 

It  needs  not  even  so  apt  a  fool  as  I 
To  note  some  wild  work  is  abroad  to-night. 
Thrice  did  I  see  Sir  Modred  scowl  by  stealth 
At  our  brave  king,  while  subtle  Vivien 
Stood  at  his  arm  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 
Then,  too,  the  Queen  .  .  .  her  pallor  while  she  went 
Between  the  tapestries  of  the  great  South  hall, 
With  Lancelot  at  her  side  in  quick  hot  speech  .  .  . 
What  means  it  all  ?    Ah,  well,  a  fool  hath  ears  .  .  . 
Too  large  his  ears,  they  say,  too  long  his  tongue. 
Howbeit,  I  know  a  fool  who  hath  listened  much 
Already,  and  can  listen  more,  betimes. 
A  very  wise  and  comfortable  fool 
Is  Dagonet,  since  he  loves  to  serve  his  lord, 
King  Arthur,  and  with  all  his  lack  of  wit 
May  serve  more  wisely  than  some  wise  fools  dream. 
(QUEEN    GUINEVERE   has    meanwhile   appeared  from 
archway?) 


no  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

GUINEVERE. 
What  dost  thou,  Dagonet,  moping  in  the  moon  ? 

DAGONET. 

I  mope  not,  sweet  my  lady,  but  compose 
A  soft  love-ballad  to  the  maid  I  love. 

GUINEVERE. 

Lov'st  thou  a  maid  ?     In  mercy  wed  her  not. 
Bedlam  doth  brim  with  madness,  as  it  is. 
There,  get  thee  thence  ;  that  gargoyle  leer  of  thine 
Jars  on  my  mood — nay,  tarry  not  to  bow. 

DAGONET  (aside). 

(If  I  but  loved  thy  lord  the  less,  fair  Queen, 
I'd  show  thee,  who  hast  ever  used  me  ill, 
How  fools  can  hate.  .  .  .   But  no  ;  I  serve  the  King. 
Though  curses  be  my  thanks  I  still  will  serve. 

(DAGONET  goes  out.) 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  in 

GUINEVERE. 

How  dizzy  looks  the  abyss  of  my  misdeed, 
Seen  from  the  precipice  of  sheer  resolve  ! 
Yet  now  it  is  too  late  ;  I  dare  not  pause. 
And  these  majestic  towers  and  buttresses, 
Courts,  galleries,  gardens,  all — in  losing  these, 
What  may  I  win  ?     Perchance  a  frigid  throne 
Set  in  dull  wastes  of  country,  heaths  and  wilds. 
And  yet  .  .  .  the  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye  ;  here 
Is  guerdon  .  .  .    Nay,  but  wherefore  ?    If  I  beamed 
A  hundredfold  more  beautiful  than  now, 
What  profit,  in  a  land  of  clods  and  churls  ? 
Ah,  why  should  this  unrest  in  human  hearts 
Yearn  always  after  change,  though  change  be  loss  ? 

(She  sings.) 

O  lady  moon,  O  mother  moon,  O  moon  that  movest 

high, 
Elucidate,   explain   to   me,   the   wherefore  and  the 

why  ! 


112  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

What  is  it  that  coerces  us  our  mortal  term  to  mar 
By  always  wishing  we  were  not  the  very  things  we 
are  ? 

O  lady  moon,  in  splendid  state, 

In  beauty  pure  and  high, 
Investigate  and  intimate 

The  wherefore  and  the  why  ! 

O  queenly  moon,  O  saintly  moon,  pale  priestess  of 

the  sky, 

If  X  be  X,  what  makes  him  want  forever  to  be  Y  ? 
If  Y  is  Y,  and  well-to-do,  then  wherefore  is  he  led 
Invariably  to  repine  because  he  is  not  Z  ? 
O  lady  moon,  in  lonely  state, 

Attend  my  longing  sigh  ; 
Enunciate  and  extricate 

The  wherefore  and  the  why  ! 

O  sombre  moon,  O  sober  moon,  however  well  we 

thrive, 
Why  should  we  mourn  that  two  and  two  make  four 

instead  of  five  ? 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  113 

And  when  our  ducks  are  healthy  ducks,  and  swim 

in  handsome  lakes, 

Why  should  we  droop  with  discontent  because  they 
are  not  drakes  ? 

O  lady  moon,  of  glow  sedate, 
With  gracious  heed  reply  ; 
Communicate  and  indicate 
The  wherefore  and  the  why  ! 

(LANCELOT  now  appears,  joining  GUINEVERE.)^ 

LANCELOT. 

My  Queen,  it  lacks  not  long  of  twelve  o'clock. 

Thy  knowledge,  as  I  trust,  is  now  complete, 

By  just  what  means  to  grasp  and  gain  the  sword. 

GUINEVERE. 

Yes,  yes  .  .  .  Oh,  Lancelot,   should  I  quite  break 
down  ! 


•114  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

LANCELOT. 
Break  down  ?     Ah,  that  would  break   me  up,  my 

Queen  ! 

Forgive  the  jest,  which  hath  a  modern  tinge, 
Unseemly  in  our  quaint  Arthurian  age. 

GUINEVERE. 

Oh,  Lancelot,  I'm  a  very  foolish  queen  ! 
Thou  knowest  I  am  ;  deny  it  not  .  .  .  Pray  tell, 
Shall  not  my  altered  tresses  and  new  skin 
Find  many  to  admire  them  in  your  realm  ? 

LANCELOT. 
Myself  above  all  others,  glorious  Queen  ! 

GUINEVERE. 
How  many  others  ? 

LANCELOT. 

We  in  family 
Are  seven,  if  I  count  fair  the  list  of  us. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  \\$ 

GUINEVERE. 
What  !  seven  !    And  shall  no  more  than   fourteen 

eyes 
Pay  homage  to  my  beauty  every  day  ? 

LANCELOT. 
Yes,  vassals,  village-folk,  and — 

GUINEVERE. 

Out  on  thee  ! 

What  care  I  whether  these  admire  or  no  ? 
Shall  I  be  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  then, 
At  no  more  jousts  ?  or  head  no  cavalcade 
Of  merry  falconers  in  forests  green  ? 
No  court,  no  knights,  no  ladies,  as  of  yore  ! 
Only  the  secrets  of  old  Merlin's  flasks, 
The  face-wash  and  the  hair-dye,  and — 

LANCELOT. 

Myself  ! 

My  passionate  homage,  Guinevere,  will  hold 
All  other  that  their  deed  or  speech  could  pay. 

(He  takes  a  lute  from  near  by,  and  sings.} 


n6  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

If  I  should  make  some  perfect  song; 

Your  smile  to  claim, 
Another  voice,  more  sweet  and  strong-, 
Would  wake  another  song  and  shame 

My  own,  erelong — 
If  I  should  make  some  perfect  song, 

Your  smile  to  claim. 

If  I  should  match  in  marble  pure 

That  shape  divine, 
The  years  would  level  and  obscure 
My  sculpture  till  no  certain  sign 

Were  left  secure — 
If  I  should  match  in  marble  pure 

That  shape  divine  ! 

If  I  caught  colors  from  the  sea, 

The  flowers,  the  sun, 
To  paint  your  picture  with — ah  me  ! 
Back  to  their  native  bournes  each  one 

At  last  would  flee — 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  117 

If  I  caught  colors  from  the  sun, 
The  flowers,  the  sea  ! 

Since  I  can  praise  from  many  ways 

No  deathless  way, 

Tis  sweet  to  dream  that  for  all  days 
Immortally  my  love  shall  stay, 

Its  own  best  praise — 
Since  I  can  praise  from  many  ways 

No  deathless  way  ! 

(MERLIN  has  now  appeared?) 

MERLIN. 

A  tender  song,  but  this  were  scarce  the  hour 
For  ditties  tuned  in  such  a  lightsome  key. 
The  Queen  hath  full  instruction  of  her  task  ? 

GUINEVERE. 

Ay,  full,  and  will  perform  it  if  her  nerves 
Can  possibly  endure  the  dreadful  stress. 


Il8  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

MERLIN. 

Nerves,  madam  ?     Dost  thou  not  anticipate 
Thy  time  by  several  centuries  too  soon  ? 
Nerves  feminine,  if  right  I  prophesy, 
Will  not  importantly  develope  till 
Somewhere  about  the  nineteenth  century, 
When  ills  of  strange  name,  like  neuralgia, 
Dyspepsia  and  hysteria,  wide  should  rage. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
Great  prophet  ! — fit  Prime  Minister  indeed  ! 

GUINEVERE. 

Nathless  I  now  do  feel  what  nerves  are  like  .  . 
Oh,  Merlin,  Lancelot,  why  do  we  commit 
This  reckless  deed,  when  all  have  much  to  lose, 
When  none,  in  losing  much,  may  safely  count 
As  absolute  result  on  winning  more  ? 

MERLIN. 

I  cannot  give  the  answer  you  exact  ; 
It  is  immersed  in  psychologic  mist ; 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  119 

And  yet  I  will  advance  it  as  a  fact 

That  many  people  stalk 

From  virtue's  proper  walk 
Because  of  some  obscure  cerebral  twist. 
And  therefore  what  we  do  I  would  explain 

By  venturing  the  clause 

That  it  is  done  because 
All  three  of  us  are  morally  insane. 

GUINEVERE. 

How  thoroughly  delightful  to  be  told 

This  welcome  and  invigorating  news  ! 
With  altered  gaze  my  conduct  I  behold, 

When  on  the  grim  affair 

At  last  I  bring  to  bear 
Your  liberally  scientific  views  ; 
Since  now  'tis  far  more  easy  to  explain 

The  reason  of  our  lapse 

By  saying  that  perhaps 
All  three  of  us  are  morally  insane. 


120  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR, 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Extenuating  circumstances  ought 

Undoubtedly  to  help  condone  our  crime, 
And  possibly  you've  neither  of  you  thought 

That  we  have  been  compelled 

To  live  in  days  of  eld, — 
A  most  romantic  yet  barbaric  time  ! 
So  this  consideration  may  explain 

The  mischief  we  are  at 

More  lucidly  than  that 
All  three  of  us  are  morally  insane. 

GUINEVERE,  MERLIN  and  SIR   LANCELOT. 

Oh,  yes,  though  we  are  keenly  picturesque, 

Our  casuistry  may  appear  amiss, 
And  stimulate  sardonical  burlesque 
For  persons  yet  unborn, 
Who  probably  will  scorn 
Our  total  want  of  moral  synthesis. 
And  so  this  new  reflection  may  explain 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  121 

Our  object  of  debate 
Much  better  than  to  state 
All  three  of  us  are  morally  insane. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Let  us  return,  my  Queen,  else  all  within 

« 
Will  gossip  of  our  absence  from  the  rout. 

GUINEVERE. 

Sir  Lancelot,  for  the  last  time  thou  and  I 
As  Queen  and  subject  will  together  dance. 
And  then  .  .  .  Why,  then  I  shall  be  Queen  no  more — 
Only  the  most  ungrateful  wife  on  earth  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
But  think — you  may  be  morally  insane. 

GUINEVERE. 

Alas  !  that  plea  may  legally  excuse 
The  brazen  indiscretion  I  commit. 
But  can  it  salve  the  wound  of  conscience  ? — no  ! 


122  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR   LANCELOT  (to  MERLIN). 
Thou  hast  no  salves  for  wounds  of  conscience,  eh  ? 

MERLIN. 

There  grew  a  field-herb  hereabouts,  wherefrom 
I  once  distilled  a  physic  for  remorse. 
But  scarce  the  people  of  its  use  had  learned 
When  I  was  so  besieged  by  calls  for  it 
That  roundly  at  last  I  cried  to  them,  "  Go  cure 
Your  own  remorses,"  and  I  spilled  my  drug. 

GUINEVERE. 

Let  us  pass  in,  Sir  Lancelot,  thou  and  I — 
The  wicked  courtier  and  his  foolish  Queen  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Remember,  Merlin.     On  the  stroke  of  twelve 
All  three  of  us  do  meet  where  now  we  stand. 

(SiR  LANCELOT  and  GUINEVERE^  out.} 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  123 

4 

MERLIN. 

Small  marvel  that  the  Queen  should  hate  her  fault 
Ere  consummate  !    I  cannot  well  decide 
Wherefore  she  lets  herself  slip  into  it. 
True,  Lancelot  is  a  comelier  make  of  man, 
Steps  freer  and  hath  more  majesty  of  build. 
Then  Arthur  is  a  most  transcendent  prig  ; 
I  think  'twere  hard  for  one  to  ever  find, 
Not  though  he  lived  three  spans  of  mortal  life, 
A  more  self-centred  prig  than  is  our  King. 
Not  Galahad  may  compare  with  him  in  this, 
For  Galahad's  glory  of  self  is  like  a  child's. 
And  yet  I  think  some  motive  sways  the  Queen, 
Unguessed  by  any  one  save  Lancelot. 
Nor  is  it  her  regard  for  Lancelot, 
Nor  yet  .  .  . 

VIVIEN  (who  has  covertly  approached}. 

Great  seer,  the  revel  tempts  not  thee  ? 

MERLIN. 
Nor  thee,  it  seems,  fair  Lady  Vivien. 


124  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 

Thou  call'st  me  fair  ;  I  would  be  fair  indeed, 
Had  I  that  face-wash  and  that  hair-dye,  kept 
In  separate  flasks  of  crystal  by  thyself 
This  many  and  many  a  year.     O  give  them  me  ! 

MERLIN. 
An  idle  tale.     No  charms  like  these  are  mine. 

VIVIEN. 

Denial  is  easy,  but  I  know  . .  I  know  ! 
(Now,  could  I  win  these  flasks  ere  twelve  be  struck, 
I  would  play  false  to  Modred  and  inform 
The  King  what  treachery  menaces  his  realm  !) 
Nay,  Merlin,  hide  the  treasures  if  thou  wilt, 
Yet  Vivien,  who  already  holds  thee  dear, 
For  such  an  act  of  generosity 
Would  pay  thee  all  her  heart  in  recompense  ! 

MERLIN. 

(I  never  had  such  flasks,  as  Heaven  could  prove  ! 
Yet  I  have  heard  this  rumor,  and  it  served 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  3,25 

My  purpose  to  augment  authority 

And  fame  for  witchcraft  by  a  mute  assent.) 

VIVIEN. 

What  mutterest  thou  so  weirdly  to  thyself, 
Great  Merlin  ?     Is  it  bane  to  hurt  poor  me  ? 

MERLIN. 

Nay,  lady.     Rather  would  I  strike  the  dust 
From  some  rare  moth's  voluptuous-colored  wings, 
Than  send  a  sorrow  to  thy  guileless  life. 

VIVIEN. 
I  beg  from  thee  those  magic  flasks,  kind  seer  ! 

MERLIN. 
Would  I  could  give  them  !    Yet  it  may  not  be  ! 

VIVIEN. 
Then  grant  me  but  a  few  dear  drops  from  each  ! 


1.26  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

MERLIN. 

(I  never  felt  so  hollow  a  fraud  as  now  !) 
A  few  drops,  Lady  Vivien  ?    No,  not  one  ! 

VIVIEN. 

Not  one  !  .  .  .  What  symmetry  thy  nose  conveys, 
Here  in  the  dubious  moonlight's  dreamy  dusk  ! 
I  always  yearned  to  love  a  man  who  had 
^Importance,  dignity  and  wisdom,  all 
Blent  in  the  single  compass  of  a  nose  ! 

MERLIN. 

I  have  been  told  ere  now  my  nose  was  not 
Contemptible  .  .  .  Yet  seek  not  for  the  flasks  ! 

VIVIEN. 

And  then  thy  beard,  thy  patriarchal  beard  ! 
Always  from  early  girlhood  I  have  longed 
To  win  the  love  and  loyalty  of  a  man 
With  beard  so  admirably  white  as  thine  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  127 

(GALAHAD  now  appears  from  ramparts  of  castle,  where 
he  has  been  walking,  and  overhears  VIVIEN'S  last 
words.') 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

O  faithless  girl,  for  shame  ! 
O  girl  of  trick  and  feint  ! 

0  clever  young  tactician  ! 
You  make  love  just  the  same 

To  Galahad,  the  saint, 

As  Merlin,  the  magician  ! 

MERLIN. 

Has  Vivien  then  made  love 

To  you,  my  spotless  child  ? — • 

1  scarce  the  tale  can  credit ! 
Yet  Galahad,  my  dove, 

My  lily  undefiled — 

Remember  that  you  said  it  ! 


1 28  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 

0  Galahad,  I  see 

Your  eyes  upon  me  beam 

With  look  intensely  haughty  ; 
Yet  sometimes  we  are  free 

From  blame,  although  we  seem 
Immeasurably  naughty  ! 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
No  wonder,  wily  friend, 

That  I  esteemed  your  mind 

In  lore  of  love  omniscient  ; 

1  now  can  comprehend 

The  causes  that  combined 
To  render  you  proficient. 

MERLIN. 
A  censure  so  severe 

From  this  most  mild  of  men 

Should  wound  its  object  sadly. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  129 

From  all  accounts,  I  fear, 
My  Lady  Vivien, 

You've  been  behaving  badly  ! 

VIVIEN. 

Of  course  I  feel  the  stings 
Of  all  this  fuss  and  buzz, 

As  would  not  be  surprising. 
And  yet  so  many  things 
One  innocently  does 

Are  counted  compromising ! 

GALAHAD. 

I  fail  to  catch  the  sense 

Of  your  rejoinder  dark, 

Though  all  its  wit  conceding  ; 
I  rest  on  evidence 

(As  lawyers  would  remark) 

The  case  that  I  am  pleading. 

(KING  ARTHUR  now  appears  Jrom  archway  of  castle.} 


130  THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

What,  lords  and  ladies,  chanting  i'  the  moon  ? 
Wise  Merlin  here  ?  and  thou,  Sir  Galahad  ? 
And  Lady  Vivien  ?    Where,  then  is  the  Queen  ? 

VIVIEN. 
We  know  not,  good  my  liege.    Does  she  not  dance  ? 

KING  ARTHUR. 

She  hath  not  danced  this  hour,  I  will  be  sworn. 
I  thought  to  find  her  here.     Why  look  ye  all 
At  your  most  royal  sire  thus  bitingly  ? 

MERLIN. 

Not  bitingly,  your  Grace,  yet  with  due  leave 
We  all  have  dread  lest  you  be  half  in  wine. 

KING  ARTHUR. 
Half,  think  ye  ?  I  am  nigh  three  quarters  in't. 

VIVIEN. 
My  lord  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  131 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
King  Arthur — thou  ! 

MERLIN. 

Incredible  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Nay,  credible  enough.     I  like  it,  too, 
This  being  in  wine  the  first  time  o"  my  life. 
How  sits  the  mad  mood,  Merlin,  on  thy  King? 
Say  quick,  or  I'll  have  Dagonet  here,  my  fool, 
To  answer  in  thy  stead. 

MERLIN. 

It  suits  thee  well, 
My  lord,  as  all  moods.     (Even  in  wine,  still  prig  !) 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Am  I  not  blameless  knight  and  gentleman, 
Quite  as  before  ?    I  warrant  you  I  am  ! 
Where's  Galahad  ?  .  .   .  Ah,  so  thou  hast  kept  from 
wine, 


132  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

My  prodigy  ?  Alas  !  thou  hast  no  more 
A  rival  in  thy  King,  but  reignest  sole 
For  all  abstemious  habits  under  sun. 

(GUINEVERE  and  LANCELOT  now  appear,  and  afterward 
MODRED.) 

Sir  Lancelot  and  the  Queen  !    So,  Guinevere, 
Thou'rt  found  at  last.     Now,  by  the  saints,  I  ask 
Is  this  nice  courtesy  to  leave  thy  lord, 
So  late  returned  as  victor  from  dread  wars, 
And  while  the  jubilant  revel  misses  thee, 
Steal  with  a  knight  of  ours  to  watch  the  moon 
Float  pensive  over  Camelot's  thronging  towers  ? 

GUINEVERE. 

I  do  beseech  thy  clemency,  my  liege. 

Sir  Lancelot  kept  at  heart  an  eating  pain, 

And  sought  my  counsel  with  desire  to  use 

What  help  alleviative  I  could  lend. 

(Some  falsehood  must  I  coin,  and  why  not  this  ?) 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  133 

VIVIEN  (to  MODRED). 

Mark  how  the  King  doth  gaze  on  Lancelot. 
Can  this  be  jealousy's  hot  stab  and  cut, 
Or  do  the  wine-fumes  breed  mere  flitting  wrath  ? 

MODRED  (to  VIVIEN). 

'Tis  neither.     Wine  doth  make  him  jest — no  more. 
The  King  could  never  bring  himself  to  dream 
That  any  spouse  of  his  preferred  him  not 
Before  all  men,  live,  dead  or  yet  to  be. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

What  pain  of  soul  could  my  good  Lancelot  have 
He  would  not  tell  his  King,  yet  trust  his  Queen 
To-night  in  gallant  confidence  withal  ? 

MODRED  (to  VIVIEN). 

What  said  I  ?    Go  persuade  the  swan  her  plumes 
Are  soot-black  ere  thou  couldst  make  Arthur  think 
The  woman  breathes  who  does  not  worship  him  ! 


134  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Ah,  now  I  think,  my  Lancelot,  thou  perchance 
Dost  grieve  remembering  that  fair  girl,  Elaine, 
Who  floated  down  to  Camelot  in  a  barge, 
Quite  dead  for  love  of  thee. 

GUINEVERE  (to  LANCELOT). 

Say  yes — say  yes. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
Why,  yes,  my  lord.     This  was  and  is  my  grief. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

A  .sorry  and  pretty  tale  ;  I  mind  it  well. 
Elaine,  the  lily-maid  of  Astolat, 
Died  all  for  love  of  thee,  who  loved  her  not  . 
Ah  me  !  how  worse  than  foolish  in  the  maid  ! 
Had  she  but  seen  ourself,  now,  all  were  changed. 
We  had  consoled  her  graciously.     Perchance, 
On  noting  that  she  loved  us  to  excess, 
We  would  have  given  her  our  Sir  Galahad, 
The  lily  of  men  to  wed  the  lily-maid. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  135 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Thanks,  thanks,  your  Majesty.     (What  gross  con- 
ceit !) 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

(Was  ever  such  a  pattern  of  a  man, 
So  drenched  and  steeped  in  arrant  egotism  ?) 

KING  ARTHUR. 

I  made  a  ballad  on  the  lily-maid  ; 
How  goes  it  ?     Let  me  con  it  in  my  thoughts. 

MODRED  (to  VIVIEN). 

(Twelve  soon  wil!  strike,  and  if  the  King  bide  here, 
'Twill  ruin  the  whole  conspiracy  they  plan.) 

MERLIN  (to  SIR  LANCELOT  and  the  QUEEN). 
(If  he  should  sing  the  ballad,  draughts  of  time 
Were  drawn,  ere  midnight,  that  we  ill  can  spare.) 

GUINEVERE. 
(I  know  .  .  .     Yet  when  he  wills  to  sing,  he  sings.) 


136  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

(He  deems  his  ballad  sweet ;  'tis  trivial  stuff. 
Peace  rest  thee,  lily-maid  of  Astolat  !) 

KING  ARTHUR. 

I  have  it,  every  word  and  every  line  ! 
It  is  an  almost  faultless  piece  of  work.  .  .  . 

(He  sings) 
In  a  castle  quite  decayed, 

Not  so  very  long  ago, 
Dwelt  a  modest  little  maid, 

With  a  neck  as  white  as  snow, 

And  a  manner  that  was  meek  and  unconventional. 
To  this  castle's  gate,  one  day, 
Did  the  good  Sir  Lancelot  stray, 
Though  his  visit  there  by  no  means  was  intentional. 

CHORUS. 

O  you  captivating  Lancelot, 
So  clever  to  advance  a  lot 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  137 

Of  pleasantries  that  ended  but  in  pain  ! 

Though  your  conduct  was  inviolate, 

With  love  you  did  annihilate 
The  lily-maid  of  Astolat,  Elaine. 

KING  ARTHUR. 
How  her  rosy  ears  did  hum  • 

As  she  oped  the  castle-door, 
And  besought  the  knight  to  come 

Where  her  family  of  four 

Had  been  lunching  upon  nothing  in  particular  ! 
It  was  certainly  no  sin 
For  Elaine  to  ask  him  fn, 
Though  already  somewhat  off  her  perpendicular  ! 

CHORUS. 

O  you  captivating  Lancelot, 

You're  capable  to  glance  a  lot, 
Yet  from  imprudent  speeches  you  refrain  ! 

To  your  graces  not  insensible, 

She  found  you  indispensable, 
The  lily-maid  of  Astolat,  Elaine  ! 


138  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

KING  ARTHUR. 
To  her  brothers  he  was  kind, 

And  the  aged  Earl,  her  sire  ; 
All  the  culture  of  his  mind 

He  induced  them  to  admire, 

While  the  lily-maid  was  watching  and  was  listening. 
But  he  failed  to  see  the  blush 
That  her  tender  cheek  would  flush, 
Or  the  lights  that  in  her  lovely  eyes  were  glistening. 

CHORUS. 

O  you  captivating  Lancelot, 
You  owe  to  circumstance  a  lot, 

For  making  you  excel  in  brawn  and  brain  ; 
But  unhappy  was  the  day  with  her 
You  had  a  word  to  say  with  her, 

The  lily-maid  of  Astolat,  Elaine  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 
By  necessity  the  stay 

Of  Sir  Lancelot  was  brief, 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  139 

And  he  shortly  rode  away, 
To  the  girl's  exceeding  grief, 

And  the  flattering  regret  of  all  her  family  ; 
But  before  a  year  had  fled, 
Poor  Elaine  was  lying  dead — 

On  her  modest  little  bed  was  lying  clammily  ! 

CHORUS. 

O  you  captivating  Lancelot, 

You've  added  to  romance  a  lot, 
Yet  still  you've  every  reason  to  complain 

Of  the  mournful  notoriety 

She  gave  you  in  society, 
The  lily-maid  of  Astolat,  Elaine  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 
But  the  luckless  lily-maid, 

By  her  ante-mortem  charge, 
Had  her  beauteous  body  laid 

On  an  ornamental  barge, 


140  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

That  to  Camelot  floated  sombre  and  funereal ; 
And  the  lords  and  ladies  here, 
When  they  saw  the  barge  appear, 

Thought  they  scented  very  scandalous  material. 

CHORUS. 

O  you  captivating  Lancelot, 

In  Italy  or  France  a  lot 
Of  similar  events  we  could  sustain, 

But  in  England  we  have  froze  a  bit,- 

And  fear  she  meant  to  pose  a  bit, 
The  lily-maid  of  Astolat,  Elaine  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 
Yet  Sir  Lancelot  was  sound 

In  his  conduct  as  a  knight, 
For  the  evidence  was  found 

To  exonerate  him  quite, 
In  a  posthumous  epistle  most  poetical. 
It  was  hid  within  her  breast, 
And  intelligence  expressed 
Of  a  passion  unrequited  and  pathetical  ! 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  141 

CHORUS. 

O  you  captivating  Lancelot, 

Your  manners  may  entrance  a  lot, 
Yet  all  ignoble  dealings  you  disdain  ; 

For  to  smile  upon  and  fascinate 

Was  hardly  to  assassinate 
The  lily-maid  of  Astolat,  Elaine  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Pardon,  dear  Lancelot,  if  our  verse  offends. 
We  think  that  we  ere  now  have  sung  it  thee. 
Our  mood  is  merry  at  whiles,  as  thou  dost  know, 
When  onerous  cares  of  state  engross  us  not. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

The  greatest  have  been  merry  amid  their  cups, 
And  therefore  why  not  thou  ?     (My  sarcasm  stings 
No  more  than  would  a  nettle  sting  an  ox  !) 

KING   ARTHUR. 

True,  I  am  great.     No  greater  yet  has  lived. 
I  sometimes  marvel  at  the  plenitude 


142  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Of  mine  own  greatness — just  as  thou,  I  know, 
Sir  Galahad,  marvellest  at  thy  pure  fame. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Nay,  sire,  I  rank  my  virtue  with  naught  else 
That  lives  on  earth.     I  draw  my  line  at  earth. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Come,  now,  Sir  Galahad  ;  and  I  rank  my  strength 
Of  greatness  well  above  thy  sinless  life. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Then  does  thy  majesty  in  error  dwell, 
Nor  wouldst  thou  speak  like  this  except  in  wine. 

KING  ARTHUR. 
Thou  darest  thus  to  brave  my  royalty  ? 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Yes,  for  if  angry  thou  wouldst  cease  to  be 
A  blameless  knight  and  stainless  gentleman. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  143 

KING  ARTHUR. 

I  had  forgot.     I  must  be  always  those. 
Yet,  Galahad,  dost  thou  positively  think 
Thyself  mine  equal ?    Candidly  respond. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

Hadst  thou  my  purity,  thou  wouldst  excel 
As  never  king  excelled  since  time  began. 
Had  I  thy  force  in  fight,  I  would  be  more 
Than  thou  this  hour  canst  ever  dream  to  be. 

MODRED  (to  VIVIEN). 

(Mark  how  they  wrangle  now  in  discourse  hot. 
Forsooth,  a  pair  of  kings,  the  realm  of  each 
His  own  immeasurable  love  for  self  !) 

SIR  LANCELOT  (to  GUINEVEREJ. 
('Twill  soon  be  twelve.     Must  we  stand  here  and 

list 
To  interchange  of  vanities  like  these? 


144  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Address  the  King ;  persuade  him  to  return 

Ere  languor  in  the  revel  he  has  quit 

Shall  mar  its  joy  and  spoil  his  worth  as  host.) 

GUINEVERE  (to  SIR  LANCELOT). 
(Fain  would  I  speak,  yet  fear  my  wariest  phrase 
Might  wake  the  alert  distrust  I  would  avoid.) 

CHORUS  OF  REVELLERS  (heard  within). 
Oh,  dance  with  glee, 
For  what  know  we 
Of  things  that  are  and  things  to  be  ? 
Oh,  pour  anew 
The  wine,  for  who 
Hath  power  to  part  the  false  from  true  ? 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Thy  hand,  my  Galahad.     Heardest  thou  that  strain  ? 
The  knights  and  nobles  call  us.     Well,  agree 
We  both  are  almost,  in  our  separate  ways, 
Pre-eminently  perfect,  yet  not  quite. 


7'ffE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  145 

SIR  GALAHAD. 
It  seems  to  me,  my  liege,  that  I  am  quite. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Incorrigible  Galahad  !     Farewell. 
I  go  to  join  the  dance  again.     And  thou, 
Sir  Lancelot,  hast  thou  ended  with  the  Queen  ? 
Come  all — thou,  Merlin,  too,  our  seer  and  priest, 
Come,  taste  the  flashing  wine  from  golden  cups, 
And  dream  thy  lore  its  jocund  wisdom  mates  ! 

(They  all  retire  except  MODRED  and  VIVIEN.) 

MODRED. 

A  happy  chance.     The  wine-song  from  within 
Has  lured  King  Arthur  back.    Now,  Vivien — quick  ; 
Hide  yonder  with  me  in  the  buttresses. 

(  The  form  of  a  cloaked  man  steals  along  back  of  stage.) 

VIVIEN. 
Look,   Modred.     What  strange  flitting  shape  was 

that? 
Nay,  saw  you  nothing  ? 


146  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

MODRED. 

Nothing,  as  I  live. 

VIVIEN. 
Well,  well,  perchance  I  only  dreamed  I  saw. 

(She goes  with  MODRED  into  ambush.} 

(An  interval.    The  stage  is  empty.    GUINEVERE  appears 

from  castle.  SIR  LANCELOT  and  MERLIN  soon  follow.) 

GUINEVERE. 
I  bade  the  pages  ply  the  King  with  wine. 

MERLIN. 
Right   hast   thou  done,    my   Queen.     Tis   twelve. 

Prepare. 
Here  are  the  keys,  and  yonder  is  the  vault. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Go  bravely  and  go  firmly,  Guinevere. 
How  art  thou  shod  ?    In  overshoes,  I  trust. 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  147 

GUINEVERE. 
Look.     Are  these  queenly  feet  thou  dost  behold  ? 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

O  desecrated  feet !  .  .  .    And  yet  endure 
The  ordeal  ;  it  will  not  be  for  long.     Farewell ! 

{Twelve  o'clock  sounds  from  one  of  the  towers?) 

MERLIN. 
Farewell,  my  Queen.     Haste  ere  the  final  stroke  ! 

(GUINEVERE  hurries  to  the  door  of  the  vault,  unlocks  it, 
and  disappears^) 

MODRED  (heard from  the  dimness). 
Look,  Vivien.   She  has  gone  to  seek  the  sword. 

VIVIEN. 

And  art  thou  sure  to  seize  it  first  of  all, 
When  she  emerges  ?     What  if  thou  shouldst  fail  ? 


148  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

MODRED. 

I  shall  not  fail.     Nor  Lancelot  nor  the  sage 
Dream  we  are  here.    Take  courage  ;  all  is  well. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Merlin,  what  voice  was  that  ?    Or  did  my  sense 
Entrap  me  with  the  semblance  of  a  voice  ? 

MERLIN. 
Sir  Lancelot,  I  heard  nothing.     All  is  still. 

(A   noise  of  thunder  is  heard,   and  the  vault  is  redly 
illumined?) 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Heaven  save  us,  Merlin  !     Is  the  Queen  beset 
By  peril  that  we  had  not  counted  on  ? 
What  mean  this  glare  and  sound  ? 

MERLIN. 

Allay  thy  fears. 

'Tis  but  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  whose  wrath 


THE  NEIV  KING  ARTHUR.  149 

As  guardian  of  Excalibur  we  rouse. 

Thus  far  hath  Guinevere  her  task  achieved  ; 

Each  minute,  now,  is  big  with  fateful  chance. 

(The  moonlight  becomes  obscured  ;  the  thunder  grows 
louder?) 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Alas  !  the  imperilled  Queen  !    We  both  were  mad 
To  let  her  dare  those  diabolic  spells. 

MERLIN. 

This  last  wild  crash  gave  signal  that  the  sword 
Was  lifted  from  his  chest  below  the  moat. 
All  future  risk  threats  only  her  return. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

And  see  .  .  .  the  vault  grows  ruddier ;  that  is  well. 
If  now  no  actual  flame  shall  touch  the  Queen, 
This  fairy  wrath  will  dissipate  the  dark, 
And  so  make  easier  each  new  step  she  takes. 


150  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

(GUINEVERE  soon  emerges  from  the  vault,  staggering,  and 
dragging  the  sword,  whose  hilt  she  clutches  with  both 
hands.  The  darkness  becomes  denser,  and  the  thunder- 
peals are  of  greater  volume.  She  utters  a  shriek  as  the 
sword  is  seized  from  her  hand  by  some  one  whose  face 
she  cannot  discern,  and  who  instantly  afterward  van- 
ishes. The  darkness  is  diminishing  when  she  encounters 
MERLIN  and  SIR  LANCELOT.) 

MERLIX. 
Thou  hast  secured  the  sword,  heroic  Queen  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

Flower  of  all  courage  feminine  art  thou  ! 

I  kiss  thy  hands — and  yet  .  .  .  they  bear  no  sword! 

MERLIN. 

Excalibur  ?     What  hast  thou  done  with  him  ? 

Just  ere  the  darkness  grew  so  dense,  I  saw 

Thee  bearing  him,  close-clutched,  from  out  the  vault. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  151 

GUINEVERE. 

Nay,  some  one  seized  him  from  me,  vanishing 
So  swiftly  in  the  lurid  dusk,  I  keep 
No  record  of  his  lineaments  or  shape. 

MERLIN. 
O  dire  misfortune  !     Ruin  is  now  our  doom  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 
O  dread  fatality  ! 

(Encountering   MODRED) 

Traitor,  it  was  thou  ! 
Thou  hast  Excalibur  !     Confess,  or  feel 
My  sword  forever  make  thine  answers  mute  ! 

MODRED. 

By  every  saint  I  swear  to  you,  the  brand 
Excalibur  I  have  not,  nor  conceive 
Whither  he  has  been  spirited,  or  by  whom  ! 


152  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

VIVIEN. 
What  Mod  red  utters  is  the  whitest  truth. 

GUINEVERE. 
Some  grewsome  mystery  lies  beneath  all  this. 

MERLIN. 

Excalibur  has  disappeared  !     Oh,  shame, 
Disaster,  punishment  unspeakable  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

The  King  approaches.     Modred,  we  are  all 
Conspirators  against  him  ;  that  is  plain. 
Vivien  and  you  in  ambush  were  concealed, 
Knowing  our  plot  to  rape  Excalibur, 
And  hoping  to  secure  him  for  yourselves. 
Confess  that  you,  as  we,  were  deep  in  guile. 

\ 

MODRED. 

We  do  confess  ! 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  153 

VIVIEN. 
We  both  are  black  with  blame  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

So  be  it.     Then  let  us  all  stand  firm  of  front, 
And  cleave,  each  one,  to  what  the  other  says. 
Our  single  hope  of  safety  dwells  in  this. 
Let  all  cry  innocence  with  common  tongue, 
And  fight  it  out  hereafter  as  we  may, 
When  watched  no  longer  of  the  royal  eye. 

(KiNG   ARTHUR  now    appears  from  castle,  with  many 
knights,  ladies,  retainers,  etc.} 

KING   ARTHUR. 
What  sounds  are  these 

That  break  upon  our  joy, 
Our  blood  to  freeze, 

Our  revel  to  destroy  ? 

What  means,  where  all  was  recently  so  quiet, 
This  horrid  elemental  roar  and  riot  ? 


154  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

CHORUS. 

What  means  it  all  ? 

(We  thrill  with  nameless  fright.) 
Has  somebody,  with  boldness  to  appall, 
Done  something  that  offends  the  rules  of  right  ? 
Who,  then,  is  the  delinquent  ?    Let  us  meet  him, 
And  with  the  proper  indignation  greet  him  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 
We  danced,  we  sang, 
Our  hearts  were  filled  with  peace. 

This  dreadful  clang 
Began,  and  would  not  cease. 
And  while  with  merriment  we  strove  to  shun  it, 
We  feared,  each  one,  lest  what  we  drank  had  done  it. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  no,  a  little  wine 
Of  brand  exceeding  dear, 
Could  never  make  the  intellect  incline 
To  such  a  strange  deception  of  the  ear. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  155 

Habitual  intemperance  might  do  it, 
But  as  for  that,  we  all  of  us  eschew  it ! 


MERLIN. 

Some  impious  hand,  my  lord,  hath  dared  to  steal 
Thy  sacred  sword,  Excalibur.     The  vault 
Flared  red  with  light  a  moment  since,  while  bursts 
Of  thunder  shook  the  heaven,  and  darkness  veiled 
The  journeying  moon.     Sir  Modred  thought  he  saw 
A  cloaked  shape  dart  away  at  headlong  speed, 
Bearing  the  sword  ;    but  who  the  dastard  thief 
We  dream  not,  and  the  keys  that  ope  the  vault 
I  keep,  as  always,  guarded  with  my  life. 

KING  ARTHUR. 

My  sword,  Excalibur  !     Blood,  flame  and  death  ! 
Where  are  thy  magic  arts,  astrologer  ? 
Catch  me  the  knave,  and  I  will  see  him  swing 
This  very  night  from  Camelot's  tallest  tower. 


156  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

(DAGONET  now  appears.     He  hurries  to  KING  ARTHUR 
with  the  sword,  and  lay  sit  at  his  feet,  kneeling.} 

OMNES. 
What,  Dagonet !  Then  did  Dagonet  steal  the  sword  ? 

DAGONET. 

Nay,  Dagonet  saved  it  for  his  kingly  sire. 
My  liege,  they  all  are  traitors — Merlin  there, 
And  Lancelot,  Modred,  Vivien — yes,  even  she 
Thou  trustest  with  surpassing  trust — thy  Queen  ! 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

What  insolence  is  this  ?    Thou  canst  not,  sire, 
Believe  the  fool  who  babbles  its  mad  tale. 

GUINEVERE. 
Nay,  Lancelot,  do  not  dream  the  king  believes. 

MERLIN. 

Thy  fool,  King  Arthur,  hath  purloined  the  sword, 
And  fearing  after,  with  a  true  thief's  fear, 
Flings  this  atrocious  charge  upon  ourselves. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  157 

MODRED. 

I  mind  me  now  of  what  I  had  forgot, 
My  King,  or  deemed  not  worth  remembering. 
This    fool,  while  Merlin  dozed,  some   three   hours 

since, 

I  saw  emerging,  with  a  cat-like  tread, 
From  the  seer's  chamber  in  the  northmost  tower. 
He  paled  and  cowered  when  I  confronted  him, 
Threading  by  chance  the  outer  corridor. 
Twas  then,  past  doubt,  that  he  had  filched  the  keys 
From  Merlin,  afterward  returning  them, 
I  dare  be  sworn,  when  he  had  oped  the  vault 
And  made  all  ready  for  his  midnight  theft. 

GUINEVERE. 

And  now,  in  terror,  sire,  he  soils  my  name 
With  gross  aspersion.     Ah,  'tis  horrible  ! 

VIVIEN. 

A  fool's  mere  random  transport.    Who  but  scorns 
To  credit  him,  or  deems  his  empty  rant 
Of  weightier  purport  than  the  idle  breeze  ? 


158  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

DAGONET. 
My  lord,  King  Arthur,  hear  me  when  I  say — 

KING  ARTHUR. 

That  thou  art  crafty  knave  no  less  than  fool ! 
Speak  not  another  word  !     Already  crime 
By  right  has  drawn  the  noose  about  thy  throat  ! 
That  we  can  pardon  thee  is  due  alone 
To  thy  scant  wit,  whose  work  may  not  be  judged 
Equal  with  villainies  of  sounder  brains. 

DAGONET. 
Hear  me,  Lord  Arthur  !    Mercifully  hear  ! 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Get  hence,  poor  Dagonet ;  liberty  and  life 
Are  compassed  for  thee  in  our  pity,  and  this 
We  give  from  natural  benignancy, 
Being  perhaps  the  most  magnanimous  king 
That  ever  sat  or  shall  sit  throned  to  rule. 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  159 

DAGONET. 
My  lord,  I  plead  with  you — 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Why,  seize  him,  then, 

Sir  Lamorack,  Sir  Gawain,  and  lodge  him  safe 
Within  the  nearest  monastery.     Instruct 
The  monks  to  watch  him  as  a  lunatic 
Of  dangerous  fashion  and  conceit,  and  tell 
The  holy  men  how  he  essayed  to  steal 
My  brand,  Excalibur. 

(DAGONET  is  borne  away.} 

Good  people,  all, 

I  pray  you  will  observe  my  noble  act. 
It  is  but  one  of  many  hundreds  more 
Since  I  began  to  reign.     Make  note  of  it, 
Good  people  ;  at  some  future  day  'twill  serve 
With  gold  memorial  letters  to  illume 
One  of  my  many  monuments  on  earth. 


160  THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

I  hope  your  majesty  does  not  expect 
Complete  monopoly,  when  you  are  dead, 
Of  all  the  monuments  that  shall  be  built. 

GUINEVERE. 

I  tremble,  Arthur,  at  the  indignity 
Of  that  fool's  reckless  charge.     Sir  Lancelot,  thou 
Must  feel  the  scorching  wrong  of  Dagonet's  words. 

SIR  LANCELOT. 

That  jester's  falsehood  ?    Why,  the  tinkle  of  bells 
Trilled  through  its  gravity,  making  all  mere  masque 
And  mummery,  till  I  scarce  kept  wrath  to  frown. 

/ 

MERLIN. 

Sir  Lancelot  speaks  in  wisdom.     Nay,  to  heed 
Such  fury  of  accusation  were  to  clothe 
Slander  with  dignity,  had  even  our  fool 
Been  other  than  the  garrulous  imp  he  is. 
(My  Queen,  be  wary  lest  thy  lord  should  see 


THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  l6l 

Thine  overshoes  peep  forth  below  thy  robe. 
Trifles  like  these  might  sow  calamity — 
And  rid  the  holy  men  of  Dagonet's  care.) 

VIVIEN. 

(Sir  Galahad,  canst  thou  never  love  me,  then, 
If  I  remain  brunette  ?     I  promise  thee 
That  no  brunette  of  more  domestic  turn 
Has  ever  lived  as  wife  than  I  would  prove.) 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

(Hadst  thou  been  blonde  .  .  .  ah,  well,  I  will  not  say 
What  joy  has  perished  for  all  future  time  ! 

0  Vivien,  wildly,  passionately  loved  ! — ) 

VIVIEN. 
(My  Galahad  !  Dost  thou  mean  it  ?) 

SIR  GALAHAD. 

(No,  not  now. 

1  would  have  meant  it,  wert  thou  only  blonde. 
Farewell,  my  blonde  that  art  not  nor  canst  be 
This  woful  barrier  lies  between  us  twain 


162  THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

Forevermore.     I  shall  be  virgin  knight 
Henceforth,  with  one  long  sorrow  in  my  soul, 
And  all  my  dreams  and  thoughts  to  one  sad  tune 
Set  ceaselessly — "  She  might  have  been  a  blonde  !") 

KING  ARTHUR. 

Why  should  this  rough  mishap  our  joyance  mar  f 
Let  u*s  forget  that  Dagonet's  folly  was. 
It  still  wants  hours  of  dawn.    Come,  ladies,  knights, 
With  thanks  that  good  Excalibur  is  saved, 
Let  us  fare  back  to  revel  and  high  pomp. 

(He  sings.) 

Excalibur,  the  sacred  sword, 
Back  to  his  royal  owner  is  restored. 
Give  thanks,  with  high  acclaim,  with  loud  accord  ; 
Let  Camelot's  towers  and  halls  their  echoes  deep 
O'er  buttress,  moat  and  bastion  rise  and  sweep. 
Excalibur,  that  we  could  ill  afford 
To  lose,  has  found  again  his  rightful  lord  ! 
Give  thanks,  give  thanks, 


THE   NEW  KING  ARTHUR.  163 

Our  loyal  people,  of  all  grades  and  ranks, 
Give  thanks,  give  thanks  ! 

GENERAL  CHORUS. 
Give  thanks,  give  thanks, 
That  by  whatever  curious  tricks  or  pranks, 
From  out  his  awful  chest 
Some  thief  has  dared  to  wrest 
Our  great  Excalibur,  the  villain  gains 
Prompt  punishment  for  all  his  evil  pains. 

Of  course  the  present  ode 
Wherewith  we  celebrate  this  unsuccessful  crime 

Should  mark  an  episode 
That  merits  chronicling  in  future  time. 
And  yet  we  greatly  fear 
That  everybody  here 

Will  merely  prove  the  subject  of  romantic  rhyme. 
For  none  of  us  with  surety  can  insist 
That  we  at  all  exist, — 
Nor  knight,  nor  seer,  nor  lady  ! 
It  is  our  private  feeling  that  we  all  are  shady 


164  THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR. 

As  matter  for  the  archaeologist  ! 
We  somehow  feel,  although  it  may  be  fancy, 
We  soon  will  disappear  by  necromancy, — 
Dissolved  in  something  vague  and  legendary, 
To  puzzle  every  future  antiquary  ! 
But  whether  right  or  wrong 

In  this  our  supposition, 
And  whether  we  belong 
To  poet,  to  historian  or  to  statistician, 

We  still  with  all  due  courtesy  make  bold 
To  call  this  New  King  Arthur  of  our  song 
As  thoroughly  authentic  as  the  Old. 
Nay,  we  will  even  go  farther, 
And  say  that  no  King  Arthur 
One  bit  of  authenticity  may  hold 
In  his  apocryphal  and  mythic  mould, 

Despite  the  songs  that  have  been  sung, 
Despite  the  rhymes  that  have  been  rung, 
Despite  the  tales  nonsensical,  like  this  that  we  have 
told! 

END. 


THE  BUNT  LING  BALL. 

A   GRJSCO  AMERICAN  PLAT.       A  SOCIAL  SATIRE. 
By  the  Author  of  "  The  New  King  Arthur." 

Illustrations  by  C.  D.  WELDON. 
Square  12mo,  Cloth,  $1.50.  Gilt  Edge,  $2.00. 


(Specimen  illustration,  reduced. — "  The  Gossips.") 

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until  I  had  finished  it.  It  is  ingenious,  witty,  fluent  and 
wholesome.  I  should  like  to  know  who  the  author  is." 

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wrote  •  The  Buntliog  Ball.' " 


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12mo,  cloth  $2.00.  (Ready  Oct.  '85.) 

"Josiah  Allen's  Wife  "  has  alvvajg  been  a  shrewd  observer  of 
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that  of  a  semi-humorous  novel. 

SOME  OPINIONS  OF  •«  JOSIAH  ALLEY'S  WIFE": 
The  Woman's  Journal,  Boston:  "The  keen  sarcasm,  cheerful 
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ands of  the  'folly  of  their  ways,'  for  wit  can  pierce  where 
grave  counsel  fails." 

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and  spontaneous.  She  is  now  witty,  now  pathetic,  yet  ever 
strikingly  original." 

The.  Home  Journal,  New  York:  "  Che  is  one  of  the  most  origi- 
nal humorists  of  the  day." 

The  yew  Era,  Lancaster,  Pa.:  "Undoubtedly  one  of  the 
truest  humorists.  Nothing  short  of  a  cast-iron  man  can  resist 
the  exquisite,  droll  and  contagious  mirth  of  her  writings." 


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STORIES   IN   RHYME    FOR    HOLIDAY 
TIME. 

By  E  Iward  Jewitt  Wheeler.  With  29  illustrations  by  Walter 
Satterlje.  A  holiday  book  for  young  readers.  4to,  102  pp., 
illuminated  cover,  $1.75. 

Contents. 


Dedication. 

Proem. 

How  after  all  the  Sky  Didn't 

Fall. 

The  Kite  and  the  Tail. 
A  Peep  at  Paradise. 


When  Spring  Began. 
Bob's  Bicycle  Hide. 
The  Boy  to  the  Schoolmaster. 
The  New  Baby's  Name. 
Eglantine;    or,    the   Magical 
Glove. 


James  Russell  Lmvell :    "  I  am  greatly  pleased  with  '  Stories 
in  Rhyme." " 
The  Nation  :  "  Quite  above  the  average." 

The  New  York  Times  :    "  Replete  with  happy  hits  and  situa- 
tions." 

The  Sundiy- School  Times  :    "  One  of   the  brightest   child's 
books  of  the  year." 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge,  Elitor  St.  Nicholas  :  "  A  really  charming 
book." 

The  Atlantic  Monthly ;  "Merry  and  wholesome." 
The  Independent ;  "  Bright,  musical  and  entertaining." 
The  American:  " '  The  Boy  to  the  Schoolmaster  '  is  worthy  of 
Dr.  Holmes." 


ED  WARD  EVERETT  H ALE'S 

TWO  CHRISTMAS  BOOKS—  (I)  "Christmas  at  Narragansutt;" 
(2,  "Christmas  in  a  Palace."  Each,  12mo,  paper  25  cents; 
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Worcester  Spy  : ' "  A  cipital  story  teller  is  Mr.  Hale  " 
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THE  HO  YT-  WARD  CYCLOPEDIA  OF  PRAC- 
TICAL QUOTATIONS. 

Prose  and  Poetry.    Nearly  20,000  Quotations  and  50,000  lines  of 
Concordance. 

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